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I I 








fii\» ^ttiti. 






Instituted 1799. 


9OLD BY William jones) at the oEPOsitoRY, 56, faternoster-row, and. 
65, ST. Paul's churchyard; and by the booksellers. 



It will probably not be without some emotions of regret, that the readers of the 
*• Visitor" will receive the announcement that, with the present Volume, its issue 
as a Periodical terminates. For the long period of eighteen years the " Visitor " has 
appeared before the public, communicating, in a manner that has been generally 
acceptable, religious truth, intermingled with useful general information. The 
" Visitor " was one of the earliest in the field of that numerous class of periodicals 
which, during the last quarter of a century, have been so extensively circulated. 
Many of these have sown pernicious error broadcast through the land. It is, 
therefore, a matter of deep satisfaction to the conductors of the " Visitor," in 
witnessing the termination of its labours, to reflect that, during its lengthened 
career, it has in all things aimed to point its readers to those Divine truths 
which promote not only the temporal but eternal happiness of those who faith- 
fully embrace them. 

In the interval between the period of the "Visitor's" first publication and 
the present day, great advances have been made in periodical literature. To 
meet the altered requirements of the times, the Committee of the Religious Tract 
Society have resolved, in dependence on the Divine blessing, to commence with 
the new year a weekly journal, of a literary and religious character, to be en- 
titled, " The Leisure Hour." While returning thanks to the supporters of the 
"Visitor," a transfer of their support to the new Periodical is respectfully solicited. 
The services of writers of eminent ability have been engaged for its pages; and 
it will be the aim of its conductors to make it, in all things, a journal fully equal to 
the requirements of the day, and inferior to none of the numerous competitors 
for public favour. 

December, 1851. 

/ ' 



Adelaide, qneeo, and her correspondents, 125 
Air-beds in ancient times, 26 
Almighty, the, weak faith limiting, 418 
Ancestors, a glance at our; or, one hundred 

years ago, 90 
Ancient armour, curiosities of, 17 
Anthony Canora, 215 
Antiquarian enthusiast, an, 78 

Bacon's, Lord, disgrace, the story of, 285 

Bank clerk, the, and his parcel, 85 

Bass rock, the, 321 

«• Be ye fiUed with the Spirit," 9 

" Bear ye one another's burdens," 218 

Best friend, the, 251 

Bible, how men die without the, 152 

, the, or nothing, 16 

Bickersteth, Mr., in his family ; or, the Christian 

at home, 802 
Bloodhound of Cuba, the, 200 
Boothia Felix, 469 
Bradford's, the mayor of, advice to young men, 

Brown, John, the commentator, 56 
British Museum, Assyrian sculpture at the, 41 

snakes, 22 
Business, hints to men in, 48 

Cabeless, hhits to the, 239 
Career of the brig ** Bover,'* 457 
Cerro de Fascc^ the silver city, 153 
Ceylon, cobras In, 112 

, the great tanks of, 167 
Chalmers, Ihr., as a city pastor and pulpit 

orator, 9 
China, spiritual desolation of, 89 
Christ, Jewish prejudice against the name of, 3 20 
Christian merchant, a, 16 
Chnrob, love in the, 227 

Churlishness; or, Hallerton Court, 409 
Civility, nothing lost by, 136 
Cliff roaming at Hastings, 401 
Clifton, the camera obscura at, 363 
Command your feelings, 55 
Common maidms improved, 71 
things, philosophy of— 

The tinder-box, 169 

The lucifer-match, 224 

The law of storms, 305 

Gas-lights, 884 

The seasons, 420 

Why is it cold in winter? 441 
Como, lake of, 361 
Contented shepherd, the, 72 
Cowper and his hares, 217 
Cross of Christ, the, 187 

Dailt grace, 129 
Dawn of day, the, 377 
Decision and destiny, 120 
Deyster, Louis and Anna, 248 
Disentombed city, the, 161 
Dishonesty ba£Qled, 198 
Do it at once, 120 

Doddridge, Dr., and his visitor?, 196 
Domestic economy, 136 

"Dost thou believe on the Son of God?" a 
question Ibr all, 380 
i " Drake," the shipwreck of the, 257 
Dreamer, the, 295 
Drunkard, a plea for the, 186 

Elk, the 97 

Erasmus's corkscrew, 78 
Esterhazy's, Prince, deserted palace, 5 
Evening chapter, the, 286 

Evil reports, on listening to, 363 



Faith, a man-of-war's idea of, 289 
Family altar, the, 316 
Feeble majorities, 112 
Felton family, the, 86 
First Scottish martyr, 197 
Flight of human hours, the, 4 

time, 468 

Florence, recollections ot 30 
Flower, the. on the rock, 179 
Folkestone, recollections of, 897 
Franklin, Sir John, the search after— 

I. Measures for his disoovefy and irellef, 135 

II. Supposed traces of Sir John Franklin and 

his party, 188 
France, funeral ceremonies in, 69 
Fresh flowers, 96 

Genius, the bent of: Charles Linnaeus ; or, the 

naturalist, 393 
German fisherman's sabbath, the, 52 
Girondists, death supper of the, 87 
Glass, an ingenious worker in, 18 1 
Gold-hunter's grave, the, 191 
God in astronomy, 400 

is not mocked, 199 

, nothing lost by serviug, 72 

, trust in, 185 

Goodrich court, the armoury of, 177 
Gospel, a marvellous, 812 

, a world submitting to the, 315 

Great eagle-owl, the, 187 

Great Exhibition, the, 1, 106, 271, 808 

, a hopeful view of the, 187 

, memorable things in the, 337 

• , French department of the, 378 

Hands, religion of the, 80 

Ilappy calamity, the, 35 

Hastings, cliff roaming at, 401 

Heroes, 279 

Holy Hutherford, 278 

Home influence, 88 

How God's will is done in hearen, 54 

I AM never alone, 188 
I am taking stock, 20 
" I cannot aflTord it," 174 
Incident, a remarkable, 1l;5 

India, the oyerland route to, 241 
Instmments of cruelty, 13 
I|»8ambn1, oayem temple at, 417 
Italian travel, recollections of— 
Lakes Ck>mo and Ifaggiore, 361 

Jehovah-Jibeh, 32 

Johnson, Dr. Samuel, and his yonthful ad- 
mirers, 48 
Josephine and Napoleon at Milan, 315 

Keep up good spirits, 40 

Lame foot, a Uttle gossip about a, by Old 

Humphrey, 274 
Last year of life, 472 
Leper, the, in the middle ages, 64 
Light in dark places, 444 
Live for something, 153 
Logan stone, the, 163 
London during the Protectorate, 208 

, the water-cress market of, 130 

Loo-Choo ; its mission and its missionary, 147 

Look to Jesus, 119 

Lose nothing for want of asking, 186 

Lost child, the, 5 

Louis Napoleon, the mother of, 155 

Philippe, domestic habits of, 64 

, last moments of, 298 

Madagascar, gigantic eggs llrom, 8 (» 

Make use of your eyes, 88 

Manchester and its manufactures, it peep at, 287 

, No. .II., 82S 

, No. in., 367 

Margate, the naturalist at, 208, 376 

Mark the end of the itprfght, 841 

Martyn, Henry, anecdote of, 384 

Mary Lundie's grave. 111 

Mechanical curiosities, an exhibition of, 78 

Meek, the, 300 

Merton's, Mr., visit to the Crystal Palace, 301 

Milner, Isaac, anecdote of, 40 

Mines, how they have been discovered, 346 

Mining, the patriarch's description of, 487 

Minute book-keeping, habits of, 73 


Miracles never cease, 4i9 
MissionaiTVi mAttuaeat, a. i7S 
Mohammed, the, of modem times, 412 . 
Monster telescope, a peep through the, 8S8 
Mount Yesnyias, a midnight yidt to, 98 
M7 mother told me not to go, 116 

Napoleon Bonaparte, son of, 446 
Nature, the darkness of, 75 
" Ne'er do well," the, 458 
Never stop for storms, 245 
Newton, John, the mother of, 59 

, Sir Isaac, and his forefathers, 323 

North Cape, a visit to the, 399 
" Not far enoagh gone yet," 391 

OiJ> castle, stories abont an, 238 
— disciple, a passage in the life of an, 407 
Old Humphrey, on some thhags not being what 
they seem, 18 

• '8 remonstrance with his hix 

friends, 66 

on pedigree, 113 
' on the five senses, 144 
• on sunny musings, 194 
> on the wonders of our own times> 


" among 1^ nij^tingales, 810 

- a look at life, 482 

- at Hastings 489 

-'s parting address, 464 

OldLondon-biidgeiSl , 

One cherished sin, the^ 54 
Omfthological novelty, an, 406 

f AJU8ST, Bernard ; or, the porcelain ofinufac- 
tarer, 171 

Papal Italy and Pn»t«t«at flootUad con* 

toasted, 71 
Peace at honie» 82 
Peasant's reply, the, 96 
Peneveranoe ; or, a triumph OT«r ih» Mi, HI 

' ' ■ , a ahapter on, iOi 

Peter the Cruel, anecdotes of, fil 
— — de Cortoae, 859 
Ptetry, studies in— 

Thomson aad hk "Seasons," 366 

Thomas Gray, 434 
Poor Old Chufiy, by Old Haiaphrey, 857 
Popery, eftots of oa a natioa'a intellect, I60 
Posthumous influence, 210 
Powder magaxiBe at sea, a, 159 
Prayer, some methods of answering: by aa 

American writer, 895 

that is prayei^ 384 

PrayerlesB hcnne, tiie,- 101 
Present moment, the, 46 

times, reflections on the, 104 

Prussia, tiie oberlia of, 116 

Put away sorrow : by Old Hampbrey, 887 

Helioion in early life, 21 

of the hands, 80 

Betirement, thoughts for, 886 

Eight light, the, 465 

Bise early, 168 

Bobbers, the Bible distributor among, 157 

Boman Catholic missions, statistics of, 35, 459 

Bomish supremacy, England's submission to, 

in 668, 151 
Boyal gardener, the, 424 

Salamandeb, the, 50 

Sands of time, the, 66 

Saatoriai« voUsaoio islaads of, 75 

Schwartz, 200 

Scottish history, a memorable passage in, 873 

Scripture metals — 

Lead, 255 

Tin, 296 

Gold — silver, 852 

Marble, 63 

Salt, 108 

Nitre-^soap, 150 

Pearls, 178 

Pitch-HiUme, 213 

Vermilion, 427 
" stones — 

Sapphhre, 889 
Sea-side, things by the, 281 
Seeds and their fruit, 860 
Selfishness, the antideite of, tBi 
Shining more and more, 134 



Shotts, reviTal at the kirk of, 252 

Siberia, exile life in, 98 

Simoom, the ; or, hot wind of the desert, 57 

Singhalese proyerbs, 819 

Small beginnings, stupendous results from, 332 

Spenser Thornton, the youth of, 121 

Spider, Holland conquered by a, 280 

Spring and its analogies, 142 

St. Francisco; or, the golden city, 189 

St. Januarius, liquefnction of tlie blood of, 454 

St. Paul and Julius, 79 

St. Peter's at Borne, ascent to the ball of, 80 

Stars of earth and sky, the, 228 

Syon-house and gardens, a trip to, 354 

Talking well, the, 136 

Telescope, invention of the, 297 

Tempest prognostioator, the, 264 

That one word, 232 

Thou God seest me, 16 

Three Servants, the, 428 

Time for sleep, 176 

Toad and spider, entertaining facts about the, 

To-day if you will hear his voice, 280 
Tongue, innocence of the, 119 
Tortoise-shell, on the different varieties of, from 

Celebes, 317 
Tracts in season, the, 876, 420 

Trae religion, effect of, 816 

Truth more wonderfhl than fiction, 192 

Univebsalish, an anecdote, 240 
Usefulness, secret of, 118 

Valentine Duval; or, the emperor's libra- 
rian, 44 
Village, the strangers of the : a tale, 890 

Wandebing Jew, the, 108 
Water, wonders in, 139 
Weak faith, comfort for, 320 

limiting the Almighty, 418 

Wealth, the stewardship of— 

No. I. Thomas Wilson, of Highbury, 260 

No. II. John Thornton, 299 

No. III. Henry Thornton, 346 
Wesley, John, and his bust, 204 
Wilfulness; or, the roasted turkey: a sketch 

for families, 371 
Winking madonna, the, 117 
Woman, the rights of, 152 
Work, if you would rise, 176 
Working classes, our, a picture of, 268 
World, vanity of the, 360 
Wycliffe, early life of, 364 

Yoke, the unequal, 164, 210 
Young Samaritan, the, 47 
Year, philosophy of the. 

The Industrial Exhibition in Hyde Park 
The Coat of Mail .... 
Assyrian Sculpture at the British Museum 41 
The Simoom ; or. Hot Wind of the 

Desert 57 

Old London Bridge 81 

The Elk 97 

Bngby School 121 

Great Eagle Owl 187 

Temple of Isis, Pompeii . . . .161 

Ancient Armour 177 

Interior of the Crystal Palace . .201 

Cowper and his.Hares . . . .217 




An Arab Party resting with their Camels .241 

The "Drake" 25t 

Things by the Sea-side . . .281 

The Achromatic Telescope . . 29t 

The Bass Bock 821 

Beligious Tract Society's Case in the Great 

Exhibition 8St 

The Lake of Como 861 

A Priest watching for the Dawn .877 

The Cliffs at Hastings . . . .401 
Cavern Temple at Ipsambul . . .417 

Winter 441 

The Brig " Eover " . . . . ,467 



ilrlal Eihidllion In Hyde-imtli. 


ToB yeat 1851 will, probably, Torm a 
memorable epoch in tlie biilory of civili- 
xalion, by presenling to tbe world tbp 
connimniatioii of « ichetne fraueht with 
the most important bearing! on the com- 
mercial and moral intereatt of mankind. 
To tbe prince conaart ii due the merit, 
not only of baTiiig given tbe iupport of 
royalty to the deijgn thui eontem plated, 
but alio of having devoted to it a very 
coniiderable amount of perlonal atten- , 
tion ; and well i> it, when the advance- 
ment of the peaceful orta is tbe aubject j 
to wbicll ii lent the pergonal and relative I 
influoncB of loveragna and of courta. | 
jANUAkr, 1S51. 

Before this paper reachea the eye of our 
readers, many of the facts which it com- 
municates will poBsibiy have becoma 
familiar to them through the medium of 
the daily press. For the salie of those at 
a distance, howeier, and as a memorial 
for fliture reference, we propose briefly to 
recapitulate the steps by which the 
Industrial Exhibition attained its present 
shape and bearing. 

Exhibitions of the products of industry 
have never in this country been con- 
ducted on a very Urge scale, but have 
chiefly been confined to private enterprise 
and to the museums of scientific bodies. 
On the Continent, on the other liand, 
they have been eomparatively frequent, 



Belgium and France having had many. 
It was in attending one of these exhibi- 
tions that the late Louis Philippe uttered 
a memorable saying, previously ex- 
pressed by Bonaparte, fifty years before, 
-^" These, gentlemen, are the victories 
of science, which cause no tears to flow." 
Such exhibitions, however, even on the 
Continent, had uniformly been limited to 
the display of the products of one par- 
ticular district or country. It was re- 
served for our own day to witness the 
projection, by the consort of our beloved 
sovereign, of a scheme for beholding, at 
one view, specimens of the industrial 
skill of the various nations of the earth. 

The important question of a site, 
though amid much controversy, having 
been determined, the committee next 
advertised for plans of an appropriate 
structure, and artists in various parts of 
the world immediately set to work. An 
immensity of ingenuity, invention, and 
hard labour was thrown away, in the 
preparation of deilgni for a briok or stone 
structure of a permanent nalut!0« When 
the^e were publicly exhibited, though 
many of them combined magnificence 
with beauty and usefulnessi yet th6y 
were all set aside in favour of an elegant 
structure of iron and glass, devised by 
Mr. PaxtOD. The history of this design 
will form a curioui ohftpter in the record 
of inventions* Its conception occurred to 
the ingenious artist only a few days 
before the period of receiving plans had 
expired* A rough design upon blotting- 
paper, as he was seatecT at a table trans- 
acting other business, WAS the ground- 
work of it; and In an Incredibly short 
time the plan was finished, submitted, 
admired, and accepted. 

The Industrial Exhibition is on many 
grounds worthy of j^ttention. Vast in all 
its proportions is the structure itself, and 
the varied contents, which are to be 
accumulated from all parts •f the earth, 
will appear as a monumental evidence of 
the advances which have been effected in 
science and in art. The visitor will not 
fail to contrast the colossal machinery, 
the elaborate workmanship, the tasteful 
design, and the curious execution which 
will be there collected, with the rude im- 
plements, the cumbrous utensils, and the 
graceless forms which our fathers em- 
ployed. The man of intelligence, also, 
who haa watched the progress of the 
nation ddring the past half century, .wUl 
find much, doubtless, to fill him bdth 
with admiration and astonishment. Other 

considerations will also arise in the minds 
of all who rightly ponder the subject. 
Men of science and scholars have too 
often emerged from the seclusion of the 
laboratory or the cloisters, only to engage 
in acrimonious discussions with the 
learned of other lands, in reference to 
the priority of the discovery of some 
important fact or principle. In the pre- 
sent exhibition, however, it is hoped that, 
forgetting the rivalries of parties or of 
nations, encouragement will be given to 
all who have aided in the promotion of 
the world's civilization ; and that meaner 
jealousies will be swallowed up in a 
grateful contemplation of the wonderful 
faculties and endowments with which 
God has gifted his highly-favoured crea- 
ture — man ! 

It may now be well to direct the atten- 
tion of the reader to some of the facts con- 
nected with the building, which forms the 
most singular and peculiar feature of the 
exhibition itself. If he chanced to visit 
Hyde-park in the autumn of last year, an 
opportunity was afforded him of witness* 
ing the introductory preparations which* 
were made for the erection of the build- 
ing in which the exhibition is to take 
place. The grassy plain was invaded by 
remorseless workmen, who first proceeded 
to the erection of the hoarding, within 
which the structure had to be reared. 
In the formation of this, an ingenious 
device was rendered available. To avoid 
Itijury to the Wood of which the hoarding 
was composed, and which it was intended 
to employ In the construction of the 
flooring of the building, no nails were 
used; the ends of the planks being 
secured in their position between battens, 
which were fixed in the ground about an 
inch and a half apart, and the tops of 
which were fastened together by a piece 
of iron hooping. Gradually has the vast 
structure arisen within these boundaries, 
and as we write, the anticipation is in- 
dulged by a few, that ere this number of 
the "Visitor" is in the hands of our 
readers, the entire building will be 
covered in. 

In order to gain anything like an 
adequate idea of the edifice, we must 
conceive of a vast structure, in the form 
of a long parallelogram, the sides, ends, 
and roof of which are of glass. It is of 
three stories, one behind the other, so 
that it appears like a pyramid of three 
steps. Its length is 1848 feet, its width 
more than 400, and its height 66, It is 
supported by more than 3,000 columns. 


Tarying in length from 14 to 20 feet; 
whUe 350 wrought iron trusses sustain 
the roof. So vast, indeed, is the scale on 
which evei^y portion is constructed, that 
the gutters for conveying water to the 
columns extend no less than 34 miles, 
and there are 200 miles of sash hars con-^ 
lumed in the huilding. 

The entire structure occupies more 
than 21 acres, and by the addition of 
longitudinal and cross galleries, the space 
may be increased no less than a third. 
One great feature of the erection is, that 
not a vestige of stone, brick, or mortar is 
necessary. Iron and glass are the chief 
materials,-~and of the latter no less than 
900,000 ' cubic feet are required. All 
the roofing and upright sashes are made 
bv machinery, and fitted together and 
glazed with great rapidity, most of them 
being finished previously to being brought 
on the spot, so that the arrangement of 
the whole is the principal duty required 
to be performed on the ground. 

A system of complete ventilation has 
been provided by filling in every third 
upright compartment with luff er-hoar ding, 
as it is called, which may be opened and 
shut by machinery. The current of air 
may also be modified, as occasion re- 
quires, by the use ef-eoarse open canvas ; 
which, by being kept wet in hot weatber, 
will render the interior of the building 
much cooler than the - external atmo- 
sphere. It is interesting- to re^iQtnbir 
that during the gladiatorial shfifws of 
ancient Rome, the temperature of the 
vast Colosseum or amphitheatre was regu- 
lated by a somewhat similar device. It 
is pleasing to find ingenuity displayed on 
an object so much more worthy of it. In 
order to subdue the intense light in a 
building roofed with glass, it is prdposed 
to cover all the south side of the upright 
parts, together with the whole of the roof 
outside, with calico or canvas. 

The building is, in short (to adopt the 
expressions of a contemporary journalist), 
" a vast temple of iron and glass, enjoy- 
ing the temperature of a warm May, 
at once thoroughly ventilated and refresh- 
ing, much larger than the most magni- 
ficent of churches, with none of their 
damp cold gloominess; light in appear- 
ance as a bamboo hut, and strong as a 
Norman keep, its decorations as graceful 
as the Alhambra, and its conveniences as 
complete (dr the purpose as those of Mr. 
MaodBley's workshop; resembling no- 
thing, perh&ps, that Wieis ever before 
erected, but eome gigantic conservatory. 

at once graceful and magnificent."— 
" Had an oracle," observes another, ** told 
us, a few years ago, in the language of 
ancient paradox, that before the nine- 
teenth century was half out, England 
would see the largest building ever made 
by human hands, without mortar, brick, 
or stone; without a piece of timber 
thicker than one's arm, covering more 
than twenty acres, begun and completed 
in one autumn, — the astonished hearers 
would not have imagined it possible." 

In the original design of the buildin?, 
one material alteration has been effected. 
Nearly midway, or 900 feet from the 
west end, a transept has been added, 
having a semi-circular roof, more than 
100 feet high, and inclosing a group of 
trees. This portion serves to break the 
long line of the side elevation, and marks 
out the central entrance. There is an- 
other principal entrance at each end. 
The main parallelogram is formed into 
eleven divisions longitudinally, alter- 
nately 24 and 48 feet wide, with the 
exception of the great central walk, which 
is 72 feet in width. There are three 
large refreshment-courts. The area on 
the ground-floor is 752,832 square feet ; 
the area of the galleries included in the 
contract is more than 100,000 square 
feet, making a total of about 850,000 
feet. The total cubic contents are 
33,000,000 feet. The amount of the 
Contract for the use of the building is 
79,800/., or little more than nine six- 
teenths of a penny per cubic foot ; or, if 
the building be permanently retained, the 
cost is to be 150,000/., or rather less than 
a penny and the one-twelfth of a penny 
per foot. The sum may appear in itself 
to be large ; but when it is remembered 
that a first-rate line of battle ship requires 
about 120,000/. in building and equip- 
ments for service, the amount will not be 
grudged, if it ^e regarded as at all calcu- 
lated to promote peace on earth, and 
good-will among men. 

It is worthy of remark, that the 
nature of the building precludes the 
necessity of cutting down several of the 
trees, for the glass could be made to fit 
up to the several parts, so as to leave the 
lower branches under the roof; but this 
course is not recommended, for Mr. 
Paxton, the designer, has said, that he 
would engage, for the sum of 250/., to 
remove and replace every living tree on 
the^round, except the old elms opposite 

Interesting and full of instruction will 

B 2 


be the scene which the great gathering 
of the peoples and staples of the world 
will present. The produce of every land, 
the inhabitants of every clime will con- 
gregate within the metropolis of the 
British empire. The costumes of the 
east will be seen, and the sounds of alien 
tongues*' will be heard, in our streets. 
The plain English yeoman will encounter 
the dark-eyed Italian ; the light and 
graceful form of the Hindoo will be seen 
beside the thick-set figure of the tenant 
of climes which border on the frigid. 
And those credulous but ardent spirits 
who are yet to be found within the pre- 
cincts of our own land, who are pursuing 
the alchemic art, and have almoit dis- 
covered the means of turning rubbish into 
gold, or are devoting their days and their 
strength in the pursuit of a practically 
useful perpetual motion, may sally forth 
from their seclusion, and witness the 
triumphs which others have achieved, 
and be encouraged to employ their en- 
ergies and abilities on advantageous 

But not only will there be the interest- 
ing collection of men, but also of things. 
The history of the arts of life, and the 
progress of mankind may there be read, 
from the simplest structure to those the 
most complicated. The neglected and the 
despised of far distant snores, by the 
rude objects which form their contribu- 
tions on this occasion, will also give a 
silent but earnest protest against the 
evils of their social condition, and will 
claim a sympathy in the energetic efforts 
of those who have the means to bring 
them within the scope of those blessed 
influences which Christianity alone can 

There is one abuse, however, we may 
remark in conclusion, to which an exhi- 
bition of this character is exposed. It 
may tend to the idolatry of man's intel- 
lect. Where the worldling, however, 
will see only the productions of human 
skill, and indulge in Utopian dreams of 
the advances of society, the Christian 
will humbly adore the wisdom of the 
Creator, in imparting such faculties to 
the creature. In the contemplation also 
of the masses of human beings which 
win probably be gathered together, he 
will be carried forward in anticipation to 
that final gathering of the nations before 
the throne of God ; and he will anxiously 
devise some means of imparting those spi- 
ritual blessings which will alone avail in 
that day of momentous decision. F. 


We are doomed to suffer a bitter pang 
as often as the irrecoverable flight ot our 
time is brought home with keenness to 
our hearts. The spectacle of a lady 
floating over the sea in a boat, and 
waking suddenly from sleep to find her 
magnificent ropes of pearl necklace, by 
some accident, detached at one end from 
its fastenings, the loose string hanging 
down into the water, and pearl after pearl 
slipping off for ever into the abyss, brings 
before us the sadness of the case. That 
particular pearl, which at the very mo- 
ment is rolling off into the unsearchable 
deeps, carries its own separate reproach 
to the lady's heart. But it is more deeply 
reproachful as the representative of so 
many other uncounted pearls, that have 
already been swallowed up irrecover- 
ably whilst yet she was sleeping, and of 
many besides that must follow, before 
any remedy can be applied to what we 
may call tnis jeweily haemorrhage. 

A constant hssmorrhage of the same 
kind is wasting our jeweily hours. A 
day has perished from our brief calendar 
of days ; and that we could endure ; but 
this day is no more than the reiteration 
of many other days, — days counted by 
thousands, that have perished to the 
same extent, and by the same unhappy 
means; namely, the evil usages of the 
world made effectual and ratified by our 
oVn IdchetL Bitter is the upbraiding 
which we seem to hear from a secret 
monitor — "My friend, you make very 
free with your days : pray, how many do 
you expect to have ? What is your 
rental, as regards the total harvest of 
days which this life is likely to yield ? " 

Let us consider. Threescore years and 
ten produce a total sum of 25,550 days; 
to say nothing of seventeen or eighteen 
more that will be payable to you as a 
bonus on account of leap years. Now, 
out of this total, one-third must be 
deducted at a blow for a single item, — 
namely, sleep. Next, on account of ill- 
ness, of recreation, and the serious occu- 
pations spread over the surface of life, it 
will be little enough to deduct another 
third. Recollect also, that twenty years 
will have gone from the earlier end of 
your life (namely, about 7,000 days), 
before you have attained any skill or 
system, or any definite purpose in the 
distribution of your time. Lastly, for 
that single item which, amongst the 
Uoman armies, was indicated by the 


technical phrase, "corpus curare," at- 
tendance on the animal necessities ; 
namely, eating, drinking, Trashing, bath- 
log, and exercise ; deduct the smallest 
allowance consistent with propriety, and, 
upon summing up all these appropria- 
tions, you will not find so much as four 
thousand days left disposable for direct 
intellectual culture. 

Four thousand, or forty hundreds, will 
be a hundred forties; that is, according 
to the Hebrew method of indicating 
six weeks by the phrase of << forty days, 
you will have a hundred bills or drafts on 
Father Time, value six weeks each, as 
the whole period available for intellectual 
labour. A solid block of about eleven 
and a half continuous years is all that 
a long life will furnish for the develop- 
ment of what is most august in man's 
nature. After that, the night comes, 
when no man can work ; brain and arm 
will be alike unserviceable; or, if the life 
should be unusually extended, the vital 
powers will be drooping as regards all 
motions in advance. — Eclectic Magazine, 


Great as is the splendour of some of 
our English peers, I almost fear the sus- 
picion of using a traveller's licence, when 
I tell of Esterhazy's magnificence. With- 
in a few miles of the spot he has three 
other palaces of equal size. 

Just at the northern extremity of the 
lake stands Esterhazy [Esterhaz], a 
huge building, in the most florid Italian 
style, built early in 1700, and already 
uninhabited for sixty years. Its marble 
halls, brilliant with gold and painting, 
are still fresh as when first built. The 
chamber of Maria Theresa is unchanged 
since the great queen reposed there ; the 
whole interior is in such a state that it 
might be rendered habitable to-morrow ; 
but the gardens are already overgrown 
with weeds, and have almost lost their 
original form; the numberless pleasure- 
houses are yielding to the damp position 
in which they are placed, and are fast 
crumbling away; while the theatre, for 
which an Italian company was formerly 
maintained, is now stripped of its splen- 
did mirrors, and serves only as a dwell- 
ing for the dormant bats, which hang in 
festoons from its gilded cornices. Eng- 
land is famous for her noble castles and 

her rich mansions ; yet we can have but 
little idea of splendour such as Ester* 
haz must formerly have presented. 
Crowded as it was by the most beautiful 
women of four countries, its three hun- 
dred and sixty strangers' rooms filled 
with guests, its concerts directed by 
a Haydn, its gardens ornamented by a 
gay throng of visitors, hosts of richly- 
clothed attendants thronging its ante- 
chambers, and its gates guarded by the 
grenadiers of its princely master, its mag- 
nificence must have exceeded that of 
half the royal courts of Europe. I know 
of nothing but VersaiUes which gives one 
so high a notion of the costly splendour 
of a past age as Esterhaz. 

The estates of prince Esterhazy are 
said to equal the kingdom of Wirtemberg 
in size: it is certain they contain one 
hundred and thirty villages, forty towns, 
and thirty-four castles. The annual 
revenue from such vast possessions, how- 
ever, is said not to amount to 150,000/. 
per annum. 

I remember, some years since, an anec- 
dote going the round of the papers, to 
the effect that prince Esterhazy had 
astonished one of our great agriculturists, 
who had shown him his flock of 2,000 
sheep, and asked, with some little pride, 
if he could show as many, by telling him 
that he had more shepherds than the 
other sheep. By a reckoning made on 
the spot, by one well acquainted with his 
affairs, we found the saying literally true. 
The winter flock of Merinos is maintained 
at 250,000, to every hundred of which 
one shepherd is allowed, thus making the 
number of shepherds 2,500. — PageVs 
" Hungary and Transylvania" 


One calm spring evening, about sixty 
years ago, a sudden cry of alarm re- 
sounded through the streets of a town in 
Bavaria. Groups of anxious men were 
collected, and terrified women shrieked, 
" The French I — the French are coming I 
— the French ! " The words were re- 
peated, in a small ill-furnished room, by 
a young woman whose beauty sorrow 
had prematurely faded, and who held a 
smiling child on her knees ; in a mourn- 
ful voice she added, "Ah I my son!" 
Then placing her boy in his cradle, she 
watched him till he slept. Kneeling by 
his side, she prayed devoutly that God 



would give aid and protection ; and sbe 
rose from her aupplication with a calmed 
and etrengthened iieart. 

She was a French Protestant lady, 
widow of an emigrant, who dying, had 
left her amid the troubles of the period 
with one only child. This child she loved 
not only tenderly, hut with an almost 
idolatrous affection. How unwisely she 
did BO, the sequel will prove. By the 
cruel laws enacted by the revolutionary 
convention, she would be subject to the 
penalty of death if taken by the French 
army. If she died, what would become 
of her child? The thought inspired her 
with courage. Carrying the boy and a 
small bundle of clothing, she went out, 
and in a few minutes succeeded in en- 
gaging a peasant to convey her in his 
cart to a fortified place, whose governor 
was known to her, and where she and 
her child would be lodged in safety. 

Night came on, and the peasant lost 
his way. Deceived by the light of the 
bivouac fires at the outposts of the French 
army, and believing them to be those of 
the Austrians, they approached and found 
themselves amongst their enemies. At 
the first *^ Qui vive I" of the sentinel, the 
peasant fell on his knees, asking for 
^)ercy, while the poor young mother, 
already worn out with anxiety, fell into a 
deep swoon. 

One of the soldiers took the child from 
her arms, and passed it round to his 
comrades, some of whom caressed and 
fondled it with a rough sort of kindness, 
while others regarded the poor infant* 
with dislike, and said, *' It comes of a 
bad 8tock,-«-it will never make a true 
republican." The peasant told them the 
youn^ mother's history ; and a corporal, 
touching her still inanimate form wim the 
point of his sabre, said — ''Take her to 
head-quarters — she merits death ! " Just 
then, the commander of the troops, gene- 
ral LScomte, passed by, inspecting the 
night posts. Seeing the crowd of sol- 
diers assembled, he inquired what was 
the matter, and heard from the frightened 
peasant how he and his companion had 
been taken. Finding that the prisoners 
were both insignificant and harmless, he 
gave them permission to depart, after 
having made the peasant shout — *' Five 
la Bepublique I " 

The poor man did not need to be told 
twice, but placing the still insensible 
mother on nis cart, set off at a gallop, 
totally forgetting the little child, which 
remained amongst the French soldiers. 

Fancy the poor woman's despair when, 
having recovered her consciousness, she 
for the first time missed her little one. 
She sprang from the oart, and rushed 
like a maniac across the country, calling 
her child. By this time night had set in, 
and she was met by an Austrian natrol, 
who kindly took pity on her, ana con- 
ducted her to their encampment, where 
the peasant had already arrived. 

She was sheltered in a tent during the 
remainder of the night, and next miming 
the Austrian commander, who had heard 
of her misfortune, told her that as a gene- 
ral engagement between the armies was 
expected to take place, he could not per- 
mit her to run the risk of seeking her 
child in person, but that he would himself 
cause inquiries to be made of the French 
general. ** You," he said, " will be con« 
ducted to Ulm, and I trust, with the 
blessing of God, your child will be 
speedily restored to you." 

Passively, and without power even to 
weep, the poor mother suffered herself 
to be conveyed to Ulm. Before the pro- 
mised inquiries could be made, a bloody 
engagement took place between the 
armies. The humane commander of the 
Austrian forces was killed; and amongst 
the wounded soldiers brought to the hos- 
pital at Ulm, no tidings could be heard 
of the missing child. 

The mother was seised with a lingering 
illness, and, like the patriarch of old, was 
ready to say—-'' I will go down into the 
grave unto my son, mourning." But 
heavenly consolation was brought to her 
by the ministration of an aged man — a 
pious Lutheran clergyman, who visited 
her in her distress, and encouraged her 
in her affliction to adore the mighty hand 
that smote, and which could abundantly 
heal. She was led to the exercise of 
devout submission to Uie Divine will. 
She felt that her child had been indeed 
her idol ; and exquisitely painful as had 
been the stroke of separation, she could 
not but acknowledge that she had drawn 
down the visitation upon herself by her 
having given to th^ creature that first 
place in her affections which was justly 
due to the Creator. "Do not weep," 
said her kind Christian friend ; " Jacob, 
once in despair and sinful distrust, cried 
— ' Joseph la not, and Simeon is not— all 
these thinga are against me.' Yet he 
lived to see them both in health and 
prosperity. Is anything too hard for the 
Lord ? He can yet, it it be his good 
pleasure, bring you tidings of your lost 


child. Meanwliile, do not give way to 
violent and sinful grief. The town ii 
now filled with the nick and wounded. 
Endeavour to mitigate their sorrows : with 
God*8 blessing, you will find relieving 
others' gri^ an efiectual remedy for 
soothing your own." The bereaved 
mother listened to this wise counsel : she 
dried her tears, a ray of hope sprung up 
in her heart, and again committing her 
trial in fervent supplication to the Hearer 
of prayer, she engaged herself actively 
in labours of compassion and love to the 
numerous victims of war by which the 
town was tenanted. In this occupation 
she was gradually drawn away from the 
contemplation of her private grief, and 
led, as one who had known sorrow, to 
sympathize in the afflictions of others. 

We will now return to the poor infant 
left amongst the rude soldiers at the 

** Take back this young wolf- whelp to 
the peasant that brought him here,'* said 
an old sergeant 

" 'Tis a pity he has not sucked repub-/ 
lican milk," remarked another ; ** he 
would make a sturdy grenadier." 

" Off with the squalling brat ! " ex- 
claimed a third, and seizing the child, he 
carried him towards the place where the 
peasant's car had been, but which was 
now gone. 

** A pretty business this," growled the 
man, '* to find oneself turned into a nurse 
all of a sudden." His comrades crowded 
round him, laughing and jeering, until a 
grenadier came up and said-— 

'* Let me see the ^child." He took it 
in his arms, racked it quietly to appease 
its crying, and then kissing its fair fore- 
head, said to the others, ** I'll take charge 
of this boy, my lads." The grenadier 
was a native of the Pyrenees, considera- 
bly advanced in years; but although a 
good soldier, a humane man. His com- 
rades amused themselves for a few mi* 
nutes by uttering rude jests on the novel 
character in which he appeared; and 
Pierre listened to them with the utmost 
good humour, as he passed the back of 
bis hand across his moustache, which the 
tears of the child had moistened. 

<* Come boys," said he, '* 'tis time to 
prepare for action." And carrying off 
the child, he arranged a little leathern 
sack wherein to place him. He then fed 
him, and settled him in a comfortable 
position on his own broad shoulders, 
alreadv loaded with his knapsack. 

That will do famously, said Pierre 


to himself. **A kindness done to the 
helpless never weighs heavily ! " (If the 
weeping mother could only have seen her 
child 1) 

After a time the whole regiment be- 
came accustomed to seeing their comrade 
carry his adopted son wherever he went, 
and they always addressed him as " Fa- 
ther Verdet." After six months passed 
in manoeuvring and partial skirmishing, 
a great battle was fought between the 
contending armies. The grenadier placed 
his nursling in a safe shady spot on the 
borders of a wood, and then went to take 
his place in the front rank. The combat 
was very sanguinary, and on both sides 
the artillery made fearful havoc. The 
foremost battalions of French infantry 
were mowed down by the grape- shot like 
ears of com. Pierre, being shot through 
the arm, retired from the combat where 
he could be no longer useful, and dragged 
himself with difficulty towards the wood. 
Exhausted from loss of blood, he lay 
down by the side of the sleeping child, 
hoping that the scattered parties of the 
enemy would not discover him amongst 
the foliage, and that after taking a little 
rest he might recover sufficient strength 
to carry the infant with him. 

Suddenly he heard a sound of horses 
galloping, and, peeping through the 
leaves, he perceived a party of Austrian 
hussars approaching. They would pro- 
bably have passed by without discovering 
him, had not the cries of the child, who 
just then woke up suddenly, attracted 
their attention. Two of the hussars im- 
mediately spurred their horses towards 
the spot where the wounded man lay, 
and summoned him to surrender. With 
a painful effort Pierre raised himself from 
the ground, and extending his unhurt 
arm, he pointed towards the innocent 
cause of his betrayal, and said, " We are 
both your prisoners •— oh I don't sepa- 
rate us ! " 

The soldiers raised them both, rudely 
enouffh, and placed them on a wagon 
already loaded with the wounded, which 
conveyed them to the town of Ulm. 
Arrived there, Verdet was placed, with 
several others, in an . already crowded 
hospital, and left for some hours without 
having his arm looked to; for the number 
of the wounded was so great that, the 
Austrians naturally receiving the first 
care, the surgeons could not possibly 
attend to all. 

An appeal had been made to all the 
charitable inhabitants of Ulm, asking 


TliE LOST CttlLD. 

tbem to contribute money, linen, beds, 
and nourisbment for the disabled. Be- 
sides giving these things, many kind 
women, of all ranks, bestowed their per- 
sonal and unwearied attendance at the 
hospitals, going from one groaning wretch 
to another, and seeking to administer 
not merely help to the body, but also 
comfort and instruction to the soul. 
Among these was the bereaved mother 
of our narrative. An unusual depression 
had weighed her down that morning. 
" Whpr," said she, " should I persevere 
in this work while my own heart is so 
lonely ? Without husband — without child 
— my sorrow is greater than I can bear. 
I will remain within my own dwelling 
to-day, and send an excuse to the visitors 
for my absence." A principle of duty 
within her, however, strove against this 
selfish reasoning. She struggled and 
prayed to subdue these unchristian feel- 
ings, and the effort was successful. " Be 
not weary in well-doing," was a text 
which recurred to her memory. It gave 
her comfort, and she rose from her knees 
and repaired to the hospital. 

As she was passing near a pallet where 
Pierre Verdet lay, her ear was caught 
by these words : — 

** Where is my child ? Oh I ask them 
to give him back to me ! " 

** Have you then lost your child ? " she 
asked, in a tremulous voice, as she paused 
and bent over the wounded soldier. 

"Yes," replied he; "I don't know 
where they have taken my poor little 
fellow, and I'm sure his little heart will 
break when he can't find me." 

" Oh ! I will look for him," cried the 
lady, bursting into tears ; " I will find 
him and bring him back to you. I, too, 
have known what it is to lose a son." 

She hastened to the governor, pre- 
ferred her request, aud it was granted. 
An order was immediately given that the 
boy should be restored to his father, and 
the lady, as she returned with the wel- 
come tidings to the grenadier, said within 

« This poor man is about to regain his 
child. Oh ! my heavenly Father, wilt 
not thou, too, restore me mine 2 Of thy 
great mercy at least grant that some of 
these soldiers may bring me tidings of 
him ! " 

When she reached the pallet where 
Pierre Verdet lay, the surgeon was stand- 
ing beside him, preparing to amputate 
his arm. She requested a brief delay, 
and in a few minutes the child was 

brought. With trembling arms the lady 
received it ; her eyes were fixed on the 
ground, for she feared to look on the 
baby's face, lest her sorrows might break 
out afresh. She placed him gently by 
the soldier's side, and the little creature 
uttered a cry of joy when he recognised 
his adopted father. 

At that once familiar sound, the lady 
started, looked at the child, and then 
clasping him in her arms, exclaimed : — 

'* My son ! my son ! have I found thee 
again? Heavenly Father, what thanks 
can I render unto thee ? " 

The manly cheek of the old soldier 
flushed with surprise, and, forgetting his 
own sufferings, he fixed his eyes, from 
which large tears were falling, on the 
joyous mother. 

" It was you, then," he said, "who, 
six months ago, were taken prisoner by 
our men, and whose child remained be- 
hind. How you must have wept for 
him! Take him with you now, and 
leave me here to die. Yet— I know I 
must surrender him to you ; but surely 
I would not do so to any other." 

And the poor fellow, overcome by 
bodily pain and mental agitation, sank 
back on his pillow in a swoon. The 
mother, clasping her recovered treasure 
to her heart, called for assistance, and 
caused the preserver of her child to be 
borne on a litter to her own home. There 
he was tended with such anxious care 
and skill, that he speedily began to 
recover, and amputation of the arm was 
pronounced to be unnecessary. 

In compliance with the anxious sup- 
plication of the grateful mother, Pierre 
Verdet obtained his liberty from the 
Austrian government; and three years 
afterwards the lady, having returned to 
France, regained possession of the greater 
part of her wealth. The first use she 
made of it was to endow Pierre Verdet 
with a moderate provision, and to pur- 
chase for him a* beautiful little cottage in 
his native village. There he was after 
visited by his adopted son, who loved to 
hearken to the veteran's tales— still more 
to learn a holy lesson of love to God aud 
trust in his unfailing mercy from the 
eventful story of his own infant days. 
Hi« mother loved him tenderly, but no 
longer idolatrously. "Did I not tell 
you," said the Christian pastor who had 
visited her in the hour of affliction, 
" that nothing was too hard for the Lord. 
In comforting others, you were yourself 
comforted. To bind up another's wounds 



IS often the best balm for our own/'— - 
Adapted from the French, 


Nothing can form men to a fitness for 
bringing much honour to God, or for 
being singularly useful to the world but 
this. We shall never design great things 
for God or our generation^ much less 
execute them well, unless we are under 
the influence of a better spirit than our 
own. But if filled with the Spirit, we 
shall be able and ready to do aU things 
which we are called to ; " the weak will 
be as David, and David as an angel of 
the Lord." 

To be filled with the Spirit would 
make us proof against the most powerful 
temptations. All the terrors of life will 
be little things to a man full of the Holy 
Ghost ; as was plainly seen in Stephen's 
case, and in many of the noble army*of 
martyrs. Satan will gain little advantage 
by all his vigilance and subtlety, where 
the all-wise and gracious Spirit is present 
as a constant monitor. 

To be filled with the Spirit- would put 
us into a fit posture of soul for daily com- 
munion with God. £very institution of 
Divine worship would be attended on 
with pleasure and delight; we should 
engage in it with a spiritual frame, and 
every pious disposition suitable to it 
would be in ready and lively exercise. 
When this wind blows upon the garden, 
the spices thereof will flow out ; and then 
the beloved will come into his garden, 
and eat his pleasant fruits, Cant. iv. 16. 

To be filled with the Spirit would settle 
our souls in the truest pleasure and 
peace. The more we walk in the fear of 
the Lord, tbe more we may expect to 
walk in the comforts of the Holy Ghost. 
In tribulation, in distress, in peril, in 
famine, in nakedness, we shall have meat 
to eat which the world knows not of, and 
be able to joy in the Lord, though the 
fig-tree does not blossom. Finally : to 
be filled with the Spirit is no less than 
heaven begun — heaven brought down 
into the soul, in title, in meetness, in 
cheerful prospects. Who should not 
covet this unspeakable blessing ? — Evans, 


From the humble village of Kilmany, 
Chalmers passed in tbe year 1815, to the 
pulpit of one of the principal churches of 

Glasgow, the western metropolis of Scot- 
land. At an early period of its history, 
that city had been distinguished for its 
attachment to the gospel, — so much so 
that it had adopted as its motto, " Let 
Glasgow flourish by the preaching of the 
word." A change had subsequently, how- 
ever, passed upon it. The motto had been 
contracted into '' Let Glasgow flourish." 
Pure evangelical truth had greatly ceased 
to be prized, and at the time of Chalmers' 
arrival, the pulpits were in many cases 
filled by men who had substituted a code 
of human ethics for the unadulterated 

Chalmers made his dehvt in Glasgow 
by a sermon preached on behalf of a 
Society for Aiding the Sons of the Clergy. 
He moved the sympathies of his audience 
by his stirring eloquence, and was himself 
(for he was now both a husband and a 
father) seen to drop tears upon his manu- 
script, as he painted the forlorn condition 
of a pastor's widow and children, leaving 
the home of their deceased protector. A 
crowd bad gathered to listen to this open- 
ing'address of the young preacher. Among 
the audience was Mr. Lockhart, the future 
editor of the " Quarterly Review." In 
a work which this gentleman published, 
about that time, under the assumed title 
of " Peter's Letters," he described vividly 
the impression which Chalmers made 
upon him. " I have never heard," was 
his summing-up remark, ** either in Eng- 
land or Scotland, or in any other country, 
a preacher whose eloquence was capable 
of producing an efiect so strong and irre- 
sistible as his." 

Chalmers' regular induction to the 
duties of his parish took place shortly 
afterwards. According to the Scottish 
practice, he had to stand at the door of 
the church, and shake hands with his 
congregation ; a custom well adapted to 
break down any feelings of shyness or 
improper reserve. ** An immense num- 
ber," he writes, «* I had to do this with. 
Sometimes I got three hands in my loof 
at once." The young city minister was 
not long in discovering, however, that his 
new charge was not without its alloy, in 
the shape of heavy demands upon his 
time. Four clergymen, he found, were 
expected to attend every "genteel" fune- 
ral in Glasgow. He had to be present 
at school-examinations, and to eat dinners 
without number. On one occasion, too, 
he had to listen for a whole hour to a 
corporation debate, on a subject no less 
important than the opening of a gutter! 



He sorely felt these secular interruptions, 
and ere long lie made them the subject of 
a printed sermon ; a circumstance which 
led the magistrates of Stirling to offer 
him the pastorate of that town, as being 
a quieter charge than Glasgow. They 
jocosely assured him, that his manse 
would lie under Stirling Castle, and that the 
guns of that venerable fortress would, if 
necessary, be pointed against all intruders 
who should seek to disturb his studies. 

Dr. Chalmers commenced his labours 
in his new sphere, with heartfelt and 
humble dependence on Divine grace. 
" What I want," he wrote to his sister, 
at the beginning of a new year, '* what I 
want to realize, is the feeling of being a 
stranger and a pilgrim on the earth ; to 
shake off that obstinate delusion which 
binds me to the world as my home-^to 
take up with eternity as my settled habi- 
tation — and transfer the wishes, the 
interests, and the hopes which are so apt 
to grovel among the objects of a perisn- 
able scene to the realities and glories of 
paradise." ** Let this," he adds, <* be our 
diligent aspiring at this season o& the 
year." It is a sentiment which the reader 
may, in January, 1851, with great pro- 
priety transfer to himself. 

One of the earliest incidents in his 
ministry, in Glasgow, was the formation 
of a friendship with a pious young lawyer, 
of tlie name of Smith. Death prema- 
turely terminated this connexion, but 
Chalmers had the privilege of guiding 
this interesting individual, if not to a 
knowledge, at least to an assured depend- 
ence on the Saviour. In the midst of 
his rising intellectual eminence, Chalmers' 
heart was drawn towards him, as to a 
brother. His letters to him abound with 
the most affectionate earnestness, " My 
dear friend," he writes to him, ''hangs 
upon me wherever I go. The habit of your 
society and the feeling of your friendship 
have ^become part of my constitution." 
With graceful propriety he might have 
adopted Goldsmith's lines : 

" Where*cr I roam, whatever realms I view, 
My heart, untravell'd,^8till returns to you." 

It is interesting to read his counsels to 
this young companion, and to mark the 
earnestness with which he encouraged 
him to an immediate dedication to the 
Saviour. " The tidings of great joy," he 
wrote to him, when harassed about a 
sense of his interest in Christ, " the tidings 
of great joy do not have their right effect 
upon you, if they do not make you joyful 

at the first moment of their import being 
understood. After being told that the 
blood of Christ cleanseth from all sin, and 
that this privilege is given to believers, 
what i^ it that you wait for ere you look 
upon yourself as a justified person in the 
sight of God ? Must you first qualify for 
the privilege by obedience, and then 
believe? Nol believe, and take the 
comfort of the thing believed immedi- 
ately ... to the comfort of the promises 
add obedience to the precepts, and be 
assured that this obedience will go on 
with a vigour and animation, after the 
comfort is established, which it could 
never reach out of Christ and away from 
him. You will then serve God without 
fsaTf in righteousness and holiness all the 
days of your life." Mr. Smith died not 
long after the receipt of this communica- 
tion. Chalmers received the news of his 
death with deep emotion. ** I have been 
thrown," he writes, "into successive 
floods of tenderness." How amiable is 
Christian union, how sacred is that fritrnd- 
ship, of which love to Christ forms the 
cementing bond ? 

The star of Chalmers, as an orator, was 
now beginning to rise in full brilliancy. 
Having been elected a member of the 
General Assembly,— ^the highest ecclesi- 
astical court in Scotland, — ^ne poured out 
there a flood of eloquence, which carried 
along both the judgment and the feelings 
of his audience. He had had, on a former 
occasion, the attestation of the future 
editor of one of the leading literary re- 
views, as to his oratorical powers. In the 
present instance he had a similar testi- 
mony from a man of still higher literary 
celebrity. Francis Jeffrey, the editor of 
the ** Edinburgh Review," and the leader 
of the Scottish bar, was one of his charmed 
auditors in the Assembly. *< There is 
something," he said, *' altogether remark- 
able about that man. It reminds me 
more of what one reads as to the effects of 
the eloquence of Demosthenes, than any- 
thing I ever heard." Dr. Chalmers was 
also, at this time, called on to preach 
before the nobleman who sat in the Gene- 
ral Assembly, as the representative of the 
sovereign. The effects of his sermon 
bore some resemblance to what has been 
recorded of Massillon's pulpit eloquence. 
As he carried his hearers, in his majestic 
periods, through the vast field of the 
visible universe, (his text being David's 
lines,—" Thy heavens, the works of thy 
hands,") — the attention of the auditory, 
we are told, was so much upon the stretch, 



that when Ibe preacher made a pause, at 
the conclusion of an argument, a sort of 
sigh, as if for breath, was perceptible 
through the house. 

From these scenes of success, if the 
term can be applied to such a subject, a 
pleasing transition is made in the bio- 
graphy, to Anstrutherand Kilmanjr, both 
of which Chalmers paid a passing visit to. 
At the iBrst, he led his father on Sunday 
to church. The old man's sight had now 
failed entirely, and he went along leaning 
on the arm of his honoured son. What 
a thrill of joy must have filled the parental 
heart ! As Chalmers wandered through 
KHmany, he mused with sentimental 
tenderness amid spots endeared to him 
by many interesting associations. He 
found that his old shrubbery had become 
a tangled wilderness ; that a seat where, 
with Mrs. Chalmers, he had often sa^ 
had been removed, and that a favourite 
strawberry-bed had almost ceased to yield 
fruit. It gave him pleasure to find, how- 
ever, that some old figures of foxes' tails, 
carved on the chimney-piece, were still 
in a state of good preservation. " I 
passed," he adds, ** the manse gate with 
the plaintive feeling that it was my heme 
no more. The evening was beautiful, 
and sweetly did the declining sun shine 
upon all the group of hamlet objects that 
were before me. The manse was in a 
glare of luxuriance. I took many a look 
till it sank beneath the summit of the 
road." An amusing incident, we must 
add, had occurred to him, when preach- 
ing again in Kilmany church, near an 
open window. A puif of wind caught a 
portion of his manuscript sermon, and 
speedily carried it out far beyond his 
reach. He a]^ears,'however, to have suc- 
ceeded well without it, although we our- 
selves remember, how greatly disconcerted 
he sometimes was when left unexpectedly 
to deliver himself extemporaneously. In 
giving a simple common-place intima- 
tion, we once saw this man of mighty 
eloquence, stammer and hesitate, worse 
than a youth at a debating society would 
have done. 

On returning to Glasgow, Dr. Chalmers 
— (for be had received a diploma from 
a university)— commenced the delivery 
of his well-lmown astronomical discourses. 
Seldom, perhaps, from his own, or from 
any ather peus did such flights of elo- 
quence proceed. Yet these discourses 
were composed by the author with aston- 
ishing ease, some of them having been 
written by him during fragments of time, 

gleaned in the course of his travelling 
excursions. Were mere human applause 
the test of excellence, or were fame the 
object to be coveted by a Christian minis- 
ter, the success which attended these 
sermons would have been most gratifying. 
"The spectacle,'* we are told, <' which 
presented itself in the Trongate, upon the 
day of the delivery of each new astrono- 
mical discourse, was a most singular one. 
Long ere the bell began to toll, a stream 
of people might be seen pouring through 
the passage which led to tne Tron church. 
Across this street, and immediately 
opposite to this passage, was the old read- 
ing-room, where the Glasgow merchants 
met. So soon, however, as the gathering, 
quickening stream upon the opposite side 
of the street gave the accustomed warn- 
ing, out flowed the occupants of the cofiee- 
room ; the pages of the * Herald ' or the 
* Courier' were for a while forsaken, and 
during two of the best business hours of 
the day, the old reading-room wore a 
stranse aspect of desolation. The busiest 
merchants of the city were wont, indeed, 
upon these memorable days to leave their 
desks, and kind masters allowed their 
clerks and apprentices to follow their 
example. Out of the very heart of the 
great tumult, an hour or two stood re- 
deemed for the highest exercises of the 
spirit ; and the low traffic of earth being 
forgotten, heaven and its high economy, 
and its human sympathies, and eternal 
interests engrossed the mind, at least, and 
the fancy of congregated thousands." 
Nearly 20,000 copies of these sermons 
were circulated in one year. They were 
indeed master-pieces. In too many 
instances, however, the preacher was 
listened to like the prophet of old, — as 
one who played a melodious instrument, 
pleasing the ear, but leaving appa- 
rently no permanent impression behind. 
The week-day hearers of Dr. Chalmers' 
sermons, often with indecorous haste, 
rushed out of the church, at their con- 
clusion, without waiting for the subsequent 
services of prayer and praise. 

Chalmers, in May, 1817, paid a second 
visit to England's metropoUs. He walked 
through it, doubtless with different feel- 
ings from those which animated him on 
his previous excursion to it, when he 
sougnt gratification in the amusements of 
the world. He had now returned to it 
in the full vigour of intellect, with his 
spiritual faculties awakened. Rowland 
Hill's chape), which he had formerly 
looked into for the sake of the music, was 



the first place in wbich be preached ; the 
occasion being tbe anniversary of tbe 
Loudon Missionary Society. Tbe orator 
bere outdid himself. In spite of the dis- 
advantages of a strong Scottish accent, 
he ri vetted the attention of bis hearers. 
''I 'W'rite/' said one who was present, 
" under the nervousness of having heard 
and witnessed tbe most astonishing dis- 
play of human talent, that, perhaps, ever 
commanded sight or bearing." Old Row- 
land Hill stood tbe whole time at tbe foot 
of tbe pulpit, in rapt attention. A breath- 
less stillness pervaded the audience, and 
a constant assent of the head from tbe 
whole people accompanied tbe various 
propositions wbich the preacher succes- 
sively advanced in bis discourse. 

An equal display of oratorical power, 
and similar results attended Dr. Chal- 
mers' preaching on two other occasio^is, 
in London. In the small Scotch cburcli 
at London-wall, Canning and some emi- 
nent men of the day attended. The 
statesman, we are told, was fairly melted 
into tears. At the chapel in Swallow- 
street, Piccadilly, the crush was so great, 
that Wilberforce, who went to hear Dr. 
Chalmers, had to effect an entrance 
through a window. The crowd, indeed, on 
this occasion, almost defeated its object. 
When the preacher arrived, be found it 
impracticable for some time to gain ad- 
mittance. In vain did his friends request 
a passage to be opened for him through 
tbe dense multitude. Tbe crowd refused 
to believe that he was the party he repre- 
sented himself to be, thinking that he nad 
assumed the name of Dr. Chalmers, in 
order by that artifice to gain an entrance 
to the chapel ! The discourses of Chal- 
mers, on all these occasions, were emi- 
nently spiritual, and brought home in all 
fidelity to the consciences of his bearers 
tbe great truths of the gospel. Although 
" honoured with many honours," by the 
great and illustrious of that day, he, in 
the midst of all his elevations, appears to 
have preserved bis humility, and simply 
to have sought the glory of God. A senti- 
ment, which he uttered at a later period 
of life, may be fairly taken as bis actuating 
principle at this time. ** I entreat your 
prayers, that God may bless my retire- 
ment, that be may g^ide my speculations 
aright, that he may enable me simply, and 
humbly, and faithfully to prosecute tbe 
course of truth ; and renouncing self with 
all its vanities, to seek tbe honour of God 
and illustrate his ways for the salvation 
of men," Crowded audiences, we need 

hardly obser^'e, are no tests of a success- 
ful ministry. Tbe Rev. Thomas Scott 
preached his most effective sermons to a 
very limited attendance of bearers. 

Dr. CHalmers, on his return to Glas- 
gow, devoted himself to laborious exer- 
tions for the spiritual welfare of his people. 
He developed also, with great success, a 
scheme which be bad devised for the 
diminution of pauperism, by a system of 
voluntary relief, instead of parochial aid. 
For these, however, and many other 
interesting features of his labours, and of 
his private character, we must refer our 
readers to Dr. Hanna's interesting bio- 
graphy. We may only add, that Dr. 
Chalmers, after about nine years indefa- 
tigable labours in Glasgow, accepted, in 
1823, tbe chair of Moral Philosophy in 
St. Andrews, in order to procure some 
rest to bis exhausted and over-taxed con- 
stitution. This university was that at 
which he bad been educated. The highest 
honours attended his departure for bis 
new sphere of labour; and "gracefully," 
as his biographer observes, <*did Glas- 
gow surrender to St. Andrews what St. 
Andrews had originally bestowed." In 
seeking first the kingdom of God and bis 
righteousness, Chalmers had effectually 
secured for himself the fulfilment of the 
promise that all things needful should 
be added. Having honoured God, God 
marvellously honoured him. He left 
Glasgow, seeing souls converted under 
his ministry, evangelical truth advan- 
cing, and having the testimony of bis 
conscience, that in godly simplicity and 
sincerity he bad had his conversation 
among men. M. H. W. 


An illustration of the words used by 
the patriarch Jacob, on his death-bed, in 
bis address to Simeon and Levi, may be 
gathered from a paper read by Mr. 
Pearsall, some years ago, before the 
Society of Antiquaries, in London, on an 
old German instrument of execution, 
called ** Tbe Virgin," formerly used at 
Nuremburg. Mr. Pearsall, in tbe course 
of his researches, was informed that all 
the instruments of torture had been 
removed from the vaults of Nuremburg, 
on the approach of the French army. 
He then pursued bis inquiries in various 
other places, but with so little success 
(although all the common people spoke 
of having beard of such a thing), that he 
begnn to think that such an instrument 



had never really been in existence ; but 
that the accounts of it were mere legend- 
ary fables, invented by some of the feudal 
barons to awe the people. At length, 
however, his perseverance was crowned 
with success, and he found the machine 
in a collection of arms and armour, in the 
possession of baron Diedrich, at Feistritz ; 
and several circumstances led him to 
believe that it was the same that was 
erected at Nuremburg, in 1533, and sub- 
sequently removed. It was made of iron, 
and represented the wife of a Nuremburg 
citizen, of the sixteenth century, in a 
cloak reaching to the ground ; the figure 
opened in the front by two doors, on the 
interior of which were fixed dagger- 
blades, two in the upper part, and several 
below, opposite to the chest. The victim 
was placed in the figure, with his face 
forwards, and these horrible doors closed 
upon him. A somewhat similar machine 
is said to have been formerly in use in 
the Spanish inquisition, and it is supposed 
to have been communicated from Spain 
to Germany. — Literary Gazette, 


Many are the errors of mankind in 
believing things to be what they are not, 
and in disbelieving them to be what they 
are. Hundreds, nay thousands have been 
led astray by mistaking riches for happi- 
ness, wit for wisdom, might for right, and 
conquest for true glory. Oh for a clear 
sight, a simple mind, a sound judgment, 
and an upright heart ! 

There ever will bj shadows around us, 
and thorns and briers beneath our feet ; 
but we need neither to deepen the former, 
nor to multiply the latter, by reckless or 
heedless mistakes. It may not be with- 
out advantage if we refer to a few of the 
many errors which prevail in common 

A military life is not what the young 
ensign dreams that it is, when dressed up 
for the first time in his regimentals ; his 
scarlet clothes, his cap and feather, and 
his pendent sword make him feel like a 
hero. It is not all balls and banquets, 
brilliant parades and sunshiny reviews, 
heroism, conquest, honour, and glory. It 
is not what a recruiting sergeant at a 
village fair or wake describes it to be, 
flourishing his drawn sword in one hand, 
and jingling his purse in the other. It 
is not a life of ease and a sure road to 

renown, with a certainty of obtaining a 
pair of epaulets and a monument in 
Westminster Abbey. 

The picture, drawn by the excited 
fancy of the young ofiicer, and the inter- 
ested guile of the recruiting sergeant, is 
sadly too highly coloured i the lights are 
too strong, and the shadows are too faint; 
we must subdue the glare and deepen the 
gloom ! '* Whence come wars and fight- 
ings among you ? Come they not hence, 
even of your lusts ? " Jas. iv. 1. 

If in military life there are high ex- 
pectations, there are, too, disappointed 
hopes and wounded pride. If there are 
holidavs of ease, there are, also, seasons 
of toil and danger. There can be no 
conquest on one side without a defeat on 
the other, and the shouts of the victor are 
mingled with the cries of the vanquished. 
Stripes on the arm, prize money, and 
golden epaulets must be paid for. A 
splintered leg and a shattered shoulder ; 
a bayonet through the back and a ball 
through the bosom belong to a military 
profession ; and these are easy to laugh 
at in the guard-room and at the mess- 
table, but hard to endure on the field of 
battle. A military life is a mixture of 
glare and gloom ; of ease, violence, and 
*' garments rolled in blood." It is an 
unfavourable calling for one who fears 
God and loves his neighbour, and often 
a bad school for piety and peace. 

How difierent is a life at sea to what 
many suppose it to be. The young often 
sigh for a blue jacket and trowsers, as 
though a sailor had little else before him 
but a never-ending holiday, in which 
flapping white sails, creaking masts, 
flymg fish, and spirit-stirring adventures 
contribute to his enjoyment. This Is all 
a delusion. The sea service is not a life 
of pleasant breezes, clear blue skies, and 
sparkling bUlows, fringed with snowy 
foam ; nor a constellation of sunny isles 
and coral reefs and cocoa-nuts; nor an 
outward-bound voyage of hope and joy, 
and a happy return with gold-dust, live 
tortoises, and cages filled with parrots 
and macaws. He that goes to sea has 
something to endure as well as to enjoy ; 
something to give up as well as to obtain. 
He must give up hills and valleys, trees, 
fruit, and flowers. He must leave his 
friends and companions, with all his cus- 
tomary pastimes. He can neither gather 
nuts in the coppice, nor bathe in the 
brook, nor skate on the ice, nor walk on 
the common. If a boy, he has done 
with his ball and his cricket-bat ; if a 


man, he has bid farewell to his horses 
and his dogs. In either case, he has 
made sacrifices in exchanging the ^een 
fields for the blue ocean ; the broad roads 
for a narrow deck ; a house for a dose 
cabin; and fresh meat and vegetables for 
salt pork, salt beef, and a sea of salt 

Though all this may be done, and with 
cheerfulness, too, when duty calls, not 
lightly should a sea life be entered on ; 
for it is a life of calms and storms, plea- 
sure and pain, toil and danger, sharks 
and shipwrecks; and requires patience, 
perseverance, a quick eye, a nimble foot, 
a ready hand, a collected and courageous 

Popularity and fame are other than 
what they appear, and those who have 
obtained them in any department of life, 
have often grasped no more than the 
crushed butterfly and bursting bubble of 
childhood. How fondly are the fine arts 
regarded, and how ardently are they fol- 
lowed ; but how seldom do they realize 
the dream of their pursuers. Not all who 
have surpassed in music, painting, and 
poetry, have found them the handmaids 
of happiness. Many a wandering min- 
strel and maniac musician has mingled 
with the raptures of enthusiasm, the pains 
of contumely and distress ! What did 
painting do for Hay don ? One splendid 
production rolled up in a lumber-room 
here, and another there, on account of 
his poverty, want staring him in the face, 
and disappointment and wounded pride 
goading him on to self-destruction ! Let 
Homer, the father of song, speak for 
success in poetry^ but if all that is re- 
lated of him be true, his happiness was 
precarious. Of him it has been said : 

" Seven ooble cities strive for Homer de&d, 
Through which the living Homer begg'd his 

Let needy Butler, too, speak, and 
unhappy Byron, and suicidal Chatterton. 
These all attained popularity and fame, 
and these all found that they did not 
confer the satisfaction that they sighed 

Fame and popularity are promise- 
breakers, holding out hopes which are 
seldom realized. Multitudes have known, 
to their cost, that men may be very 
famous, and yet very unhappy. In how 
many ways was Sheridan famous? yet, 
when he was dying, his house was partly 
unroofed, that his body might be seized, 
on account of his debts. Sumething 

more than the applauding voice of the 
throng is necessary to shield a man from 
the arrows of calamity. We may safely 
put it down as a rule, that they who 
would be happy, must be holy; for 
though clothed with fame and popularity, 
as with a garment, still there would be 
no peace to the wicked. 

Ill all ages riches have deceived those 
who judge of things by their appearances 
Their glitter has caught the eye and the! 
heart of all classes of men. What crimes 
have been committed to obtain themf 
Seas have been crossed, blood has bee!| 
shed, and bodies, yea, and souls alstf, 
been bartered for ungodly gold. We 
imagine that, could we obtain wealth, we 
should rest satisfied and at ease ; but this 
is a delusion, for as drink inflame*^ 
instead of assuaging the thirst of Ifilb 
drunkard, so riches excite rather thah 
satisfy the covetousness of man. 

Riches look to us very like ease, con- 
tent, happiness, and delight. We regard 
them as a great good, yet, so far from 
this being of necessity the case, the love 
of them is " the root of all evil." And 
then think of their uncertainty : 

Riches are gewgaws that amuse - 

Men in their leading-strings ; 
But he who values them aright, 

Remembers they have wings. 

They that run hard after riches, pur- 
sue what may turn again and rend them. 
If gratefully received as the gift of God, 
and properly used, riches are a good; 
but if greedily clutched as a man's own 
gain, and improperly used, they are a 
great evil. In a word, riches may be a 
curse or a blessing; a means pf pro- 
moting the peace of their possessor, or a 
delusion to his eye, a fetter to his foot, 
and a snare to his heart. 

Conquest is another of the many delu- 
sions of the world. To be a conqueror, 
achieving sanguinary victories, and ob- 
taining a high station is regarded by 
many as the greatest earthly good ; for 
what can he require who has ** waded 
through slaughter to a throne," and 
raised himseli above his fellow-men ! 

But does experience prove that great 
conquerors have been happier than other 
people ? Have they acted more wisely, 
lived more usefully, and died more peace- 
fully than those around them ? Look at 
the conqueror of the world, Alexander 
the Great, setting a city on fire, in his 
intemperate madness, and drinking him- 
self to death. See Julius Caesar, after all 



hifl victories, falliug beneath the daggers 
of his supposed friends ; and gaze on 
Napoleon Bonapartei the modern Alex- 
anaer, that setter-up and puUer-^down of 
kings^ expiring a broken-hearted captive 
in the lonely isle of St. Helena. These 
are but poor spedmens of earthly happt* 
ness, and they say but little for conquests 
and conquerors. It is enough to make a 
mighty man, when he looks to the end of 
his career, weep at his own littleness. 

Ambition spreads her enare, and, filled vrith guile, 
Befools the hero with her witching smile ; 
Binds him till death, a fond, obedient slave, 
And laughs in keen derision o'er his grave. 

Conquest is not the glorious thing it 
sppears to be, but a meteor fire, a will- 
o'-the-wisp, that leads the vain astray. 
Our noblest conauests are those over sin 
and ourselves. To have obtained a vic- 
tory over their own unbridled ambition 
would have been a conquest worthy of 
Bbnaparte, Ceesar, and Alexander. 

Who has ever yet found pleasure what 
it appeared to be ? It looks like an ever- 
green, but its leaves soon fade. It 
resembles ripe and blushing fruit, but 
too often it has a worm at the core. 
Hardly is there any one who has less 
solid satisfaction than the pleasure-taker. 
Pleasure is not that in which we can 
indulge without restriction. Like a cat, 
it has talons as well as velvet paws. 

It is well to know that pleasure, even 
when lawful, is transitory in its nature ; 
and that when it is sinful, it is dangerous 
and deadly. . Did the fly know that the 
treacle-pot would bemire and fetter his 
feet ; and the moth, that the taper flames 
would consume his wings ; and the bird, 
that the twig was limed for his capture, 
they would keep away from the impend- 
ing danger ; but as it is, they fall a sacri- 
fice to their love of pleasure. Have we 
more knowledge than the lower creatures 
of creation ? — then ought we to avoid the 
dangers into which they fall. 

To be temperate in gratification is the 
only way to prolong it. He that runs to 
excess and embarks on a sea of pleasures, 
will have but a stormy voyage ; and 
happy, indeed, may he consider himself, 
should he escape without shipwreck. 
Regarded even under favourable circum- 

Pleasure's a deep and dangerous pit, 

But thinly frozen round ; 
Glide swiftly o'er the smoolh deceit, 

Delay, and you are drowu'd. 

I leasure's cup is a boon and a blessing 

for which we ought to be grateful ; but 
we must sip it, and not quafl* it. Guilty 
pleasure is a forbidden ground, on which 
the blooming flowers are seen; but the 
coiled serpent beneath them is hidden. 
Let us not be among those who are lovers 
of pleasure more than lovers of God. 

The abbey of Westminster is visited by 
thousands, who gaze with wonder on the 
goodly pile; its elaborate architecture, its 
painted glass, its rich carvings, its ele- 
vated roof, and its unnumbered monu- 
ments are highly influential, and a solemn 
influence steals over the mind of a 
thoughtful spectator. Here lie the re- 
puted good and great. But will the 
judgment of the world be confirmed at 
the great gathering, when the last trump 
shall call together the quick and dead ? 
Will they wno sleep beneath the monu- 
mental marble be as conspicuous among 
the host of heaven as they have been 
among the inhabitants of the earth? 
Arresting thought ! fearful inquiry ! 
There is much reason for a Christian 
man to believe that the judgment of men 
will in many cases be reversed, and that 
the " Well done, thou good and faithful 
servant," so freely awarded to human 
glory on earth, will not be so freely 
reiterated and confirmed in heaven. 
"There is a way which seemeth right 
unto a man, but the end thereof are the 
ways of death," Prov. xiv. 12. 

How gladly would the ungodly great that lie 
Enthroned in pomp, and pride, and pageantry, 
Could they look back and mark with thoughtful 

The little worth of all their deeds below,— 

How gladly would they, while with honest shame 
They read the marble that extoU'd their name. 
Pull down the records of their high degree. 
And writer " O I«ord, ba merciful to me I " 

Yes, mankind do err in their estimate of 
a military life, and a life at sea ; they do 
overrate the advantages of fame, riches, 
conquest, and pleasure; and the sculp- 
tured and gilded piles of monumental 
marble io give us an erroneous estimate 
of what is truly great and good, by exalt- 
ing the perishable troubles of earth more 
highly tnan the hope of heaven, and by 
extolling more, much more, the vain- 
glorious eflbrts of worldly ambition 
than those Christian graces which shall 
outlive the grave. 

Let us not be deceived by outward 
appearance, but endeavour to estimate 
things according to their real value, and 
pursue with all our powers such as are 
high, and holy, and heavenly. 




If you were walking along in a wood, 
in that freedom which one feels when 
alone, and were suddenly to become 
aware that the eye of one of your fellow- 
men was looking out upon you from 
some place of concealment, closely scru- 
tinizing your every movement — following 
you wherever you turned, you could not 
but be made uneasy by the consciousness 
of this fact Even if you had no sense of 
personal danger, there would be some- 
thing in this close inspection which would 
be trying to you, and which would put 
you at once upon your guard. Your 
thoughts would hastily run back and 
scan your previous conduct, and discover 
if anything had transpired which would 
be to your shame or reproach. There is 
sometning in the close scrutinizing, the 
sharp inspection even of our fellow-men, 
which sets us upon reflection. 

And how little practical conception 
have we, that in all places and under all 
circumstances — in secret and in public — 
in the darkness and in the light, we are 
for ever under the inspection of that eye 
that scans not alone our outward conduct, 
but searches out also the most secret 
thoughts and intents of the heart. '' The 
Lord seeth not as man seeth; for man 
looketh on the outward appearance, but 
the Lord looketh on the heart." When 
we take thought of the matter, and reflect 
for a moment how intense is the scrutiny 
of this omniscient eye — how the hidden 
chambers of the soul are continually 
exposed to this Inspection, we cannot but 
be startled in the remembrance of what 
our own lives have presented to this all- 
searching sight. And if, day by day, 
when we are under temptation, the 
thought could come upon us, *' thou 
God seest me," so that we could have a 
practical conviction of the meaning of 
the words, it would act to hold us back 
from folly and sin, and urge us into the 
path of holy obedience. — Congregation- 


Whether we receive the Bible or not, 
it is clear that if we reject it we have not 
on earth any system of religion worthy of 
reception. If we give up the divinity of 
the Scriptures, we seek in vain to affix 
the seal of God to any other form of 
belief and worship known to men. If 
the volume, which we call the true light, 

be a fiction, man is left to grope his way 
to the judgment-seat of God without a 
lamp to shine upon his path. This fact 
invests our inquiry into its claims with 
the most solemn interest. 

The trial of the truth of the Bible is 
the trial of man for his immortal life, and 
all his highest hopes. If we give up this 
book, there remains to us nothing but the 
blindness of superstition and imposture, 
and a long series of overwhelming degra- 
dations. It is certainly a wild madness, 
which can lead any one to suppose that 
human nature can ever be elevated by 
proving it on a level with beasts, by con- 
founding good and evil, vice and virtue, 
by annihilating all expectation of right- 
eous recompense. Maniacs never held a 
wilder sentiment than that piety was pro- 
moted by denying providence, by shaking 
confidence in the justice, holiness, or 
goodness of God. 

The moment men forsake the Bible, 
they are at sea without a compass. If 
Christianity be a fiction, infinitely 
preferable to the fictions of heathenism, 
or the dogmas of that class of modern 
writers who publish themselves to the 
world as philosophers. If Christianity be 
a fiction, it must be confessed that it at 
least breathes a very remarkable spirit of 
good-will, and produces an incalculable 
amount of happiness to society, of quiet 
to the mind, and of pleasing hope for the 
future. On the other hand, the sum of 
all that infidelity clearly teaches is con- 
tained in this short creed, ^' I believe in 
all uncertainty.*' — Plumer, . 


In a funeral sermon for Christian 
Miller, an American merchant, the fol- 
lowing deservedly high testimony was 
borne to his Christian uprightness, and 
his habits of punctuality and accuracy : 
" He preserved an integrity before God 
that was not only unimpeached, but un- 
impeachable. So exact was his mercan- 
tile accuracy, that he would seek a whole 
day for a penny's disagreement in his 
balance-sheet. So scrupulous was his 
sense of truth and justice as to time as 
well as amount, that he would have fasted 
a week rather than fail in one hour or 
one shilling of his engagement. And he 
had time and spirit to be devout, to fear 
God with his house, to give much alms 
to the people, and to pray to God always, 
notwithstanding the pressure of an ex- 
tended and increasing business." 

cuKiosmiia ok i 

Tbe Coat o( Usll. 


Whue peaceably pursuinf; our Beveral 
MCUpalioDi, we can but faintly portray 
the faUl teait and bloody coiiflicti which 
pNvailad when meo, 

encountered each other and itruggled in 
the death grapple of mortal Btrit'e ; but 
when by accident or design we came in 
contact with helm and hauberk, sword 
and glhtering spear, we realize the fierce 
contetttioni of our armed forefathere ; 
w« long to know more of their deadly 

encounterti, and lo intpeet more narrowly 

(heir armour and their arma. 

Such were the leflectiona that were 
excited in our mindi by a vicit to Good- 
rich Court, where the curioui in weapons 
of offence and defence may gaze even lo 
aatiety on the armi and varied luita of 
armour, that in rich and splendid profu- 
sion adorn the (oumament chamber and 
grind armoury of the cattle. 

Goodrich Court is a modem castle, 
built of atone, and standi on a command- 
ing eminence on the bant of the river 
Wye in Herefordshire, at a little dibtsnce 
from the ruin of the old caalle of Good- 



rlcl), and the collection of arms and 
armour it contains is thought, hy many, 
to he the most instructive in Europe. 
Other collections may he more extensive, 
hut not so varied, and the circumstance 
of the correct date of the different suits 
of armour being in most cases ascer- 
tained, gives the whole an interest which 
can hardly be excited by a collection 
where all is involved in doubt and un- 

Strange emotions arise when gasing 
on suits of armour which have actually 
been used in the tournament and the 
field; their uncouth shape, their pon- 
derous weight, yea, the very injuries they 
have received, are pregnant with inte- 
rest; we go back again to earlier timeS| 
and are reminded of such scenes as the 
following : 

" Ten of them were sheath'd in steel, 
With belted brand, and spur on heel. 
They never quit their harness bright, 
Neither by day, nor yet by night ; 

They lie down to rest 

In corslet laced, 
Plllow'd on buckler cold and hard : 

They carved at the meal 

With gloves of steel, 
And they drank the red wine through the h»U 

met barr'd." 

In the collection at Goodrich Court, 
ancient chain armour of the time of 
Edward iii. may he seen, and ancient 
plate armour of the reign of Henry vi. 
Some few pieces of armour still more 
ancient are there, but, on account of 
their unconnected state, it would be 
difiicult to determine their particular 
uses. Ancient European armour before 
the thirteenth century was formed by 
stitching steel rings on cloth, but as the 
cloth decayed the rings of course fell 

The first collection of armour for show 
was made by the emperor Charles v. ; 
it was placed in the castle of Ambras, 
in the Tyrol, and excited much attention, 
bnt has since been removed on account 
of the plunder of the imperial collection 
at Vienna by the French troops. Before 
this collection was made, the weapons of 
war for actual service were stored up in 
arsenals, and suits of armour worn by 
those whose rank and property enabled 
them to possess them were kept in closets 
thence called armoires. 

In ancient times, when an enemy had 
been overcome, it was customary to ex- 
hibit the spoils which had been taken, 
but suits of body armour were usually 
altered to fit the possessor of them, in 

order to save the great expense incurred 
by the manufacture of armour, as well 
as to meet the changes of fashion that 
continually took place. A suit of 
armour sometimes went through as 
many changes as it had proprietors, 
for so cumbrous an appendage required 
that it sliould be nicely fitted to the 
person of the wearer, otherwise it -could 
not be worn without great inconvenience, 
to say nothing of the restraint it occa- 
sioned. If we call to mind our own 
discomfort in wearing cloth clothes that 
do not fit us, we may form some con- 
ception of the endurance necessary to 
enable any one to walk, to ride, and 
to fight in a complete suit of inflexible 
iron or steel, ill adapted to his figure or 

Suits of armour were sufficiently costly 
to be bequeathed by will, with great 
care, and different suits were often left 
to different branches of the family ; thus 
Guy de Beauchamp earl of Warwick, 
who died at Warwick Castle in 1316, 
bequeathed his best coat of mail, helmet, 
and suit of harness, with all that belonged 
to it, to his son Thomas. His second 
suit, helmet and harness, he left to his 
son John, and willed that all the residue 
of his armour, bows, and other warlike 
implements should remain in Warwick 
Castle for his heir. Lord Bervagenny, 
in his will on the 25th of April, 1408, 
bequeathed to hii son Richard the best 
sword he possessed, with harness for the 
jousts of peace, and that which belonged 
to war. 

In the halls of old mansions, weapons 
of war and for the chase usually adorned 
the walls ; but they were not placed there 
for ornament, or exhibition, but that 
they might be ready in those cases of 
sudden necessity, to which their pro- 
prietors were at times exposed. 

When once the mode of collecting 
arms, and armour for show was begun 
by an emperor, no wonder that the 
example should be followed by other 
sovereigns, especially by the petty 
princes in his own dominions. It was 
an easy thing, too, to make fanciful 
alterations in armour, and to pass it off 
as being very ancient, when in fact ii 
was of modern manufacture ; this mode 
of making ancient armour was very 
generally adopted, so that the varied 
collections made contained little on 
which confidence could be placed. 

Among those who collected armour 
were the knights of Malta, the states of 



Italy, and the cantons of S«ritaEerland| 
and their several exhibitions soon became 
very costly and imposing, not only on 
accoont of the precious metals which 
were, in many instances, freely used in 
the fabrication of armour, but also on 
account of the great skill of the artists' 
employed in adorning, and covering 
them with bas-reliefs of the most ex- 
quisite workmanship. Armour being 
worn in many cases for splendour ana 
pageantry, no expense was spared in its 
formation. Sir Walter Raleigh went to 
court in a suit of solid silver, which 
gave rise to the facetious remark, that 
he carried a Spanish galleon on his 

Indifferent places, collections of armour 
are very extensive. That of Dresdeui the 
capital of the kingdom of Saxony, occu- 
pies thirty-one chambers, and is indeed 
a most imposing spectacle, and consists 
of European specimens, including Polish, 
Turkish, and Tartarian. In one of the 
chambers are two suits of armour appear- 
ing exactly as they were worn at a 
jousting match which took place in the 
Alten Market, in the year 1557, between 
Augustus, first duke of Saxony, and 
Albert, duke of Austria : — ^in this joust 
the duke of Austria was unhorsed. After 
a joust, it was the custom in Germany to 
exhibit the armour of the combatants in 
the position in which it was worn in 
the tournament, to gratify the curiosity 
of those who found pleasure in witnessing 
such spectacles. 

" The multitude impatient ran, 
For the fiery steed and the armed man, 
In mock encounter, teem'd again 
To thunder o'er the battle plain." 

How long the different collections of 
armour would have remained undisturbed 
it 4S difficult to sav, if public commotions 
had not taken place ; but when once a 
country is in a state of disorder and 
agitation, the costliest collections of art 
are but little respected. The civil wars 
in England, the revolution in France, 
and the plunder of Italy, Germany and 
Spain by the French troops, scattered 
most of the collected armour widely 
abroad, and as those who got possession 
of it by plunder knew that it would 
easily be identified by its owners, so 
they disposed of it to dealers, through 
whose means, much of it found its way 
to this country. The collection at Good- 
rich Court is perhaps more varied than 
any other, because it has been picked up 
in all parts of the world. 

As in every collection of armour the 
most ancient suits were the most valued, 
so every species of deceit was resorted 
to, that might impose on the credulity 
of those who were led by curiosity to 
inspect them. Falsehood propagated 
the most unblushing absurdities, and 
ignorance and credulity received them 
as marvellous truths. The helmet of 
Attila was shown at Naples ; the armour 
of William the Conqueror was exhibited 
in England. Morning stars of Roland 
and Oliver were to be seen in France, 
and the sword of the renowned Wallace 
in Scotland. Different states vied with 
each other in their warlike relics, and 
the imperial treasures themselves found 
rivals in the Chateau of Chantilly and 
the palace of Greenwich. 

The love of the marvellous is so 
favourable to deceit, that scarcely is the 
most ridiculous report circulated without 
finding those who will greedily devour 
it. In France, go where yon will, every 
piece of beautiful armour that is not 
already assigned to some illustrious 
knight is pretty sure to be given to 
Francis i. ; and in Germany, the emperor 
Maximilian has the same compliment 
paid to his memory. 

Among the many unfounded preten- 
sions made by the keepers of collections, 
is that of possessing armour made for 
women ; but the assertion that, at any 
period women in any numbers wore 
armour expressly made for them, is 
altogether unfounded. When women 
have worn armour, and the instances are 
few, they have put on suits formed for 
men. The narrow waisted armour of 
the sixteenth century, in some degree 
favours the deception practised, when 
armour said to be made for females is 
exhibited. The idea that queen Eliza- 
beth wore armour at Tilbury is a 
modem invention, and not entitled to 

The suit of armour worn by Joan of 
Arc, the maid of Orleans, who was 
burned to death, was undoubtedly made 
to fit her body, by order of the French 
king, but to believe that it is now exhi- 
bited is mere credulity; most likely it 
was altogether destroyed by the English 
who captured her, and who would pro- 
bably consider it polluted by the witch- 
craft of the wearer. Joan, after she 
had sworn never again to put on man's 
attire, was led on by an artifice to her 
ruin. The crafty bishop of Beauvois, 
with the guilty design of bringing about 




her death, summoned her to attend the 
council when no other dress was left in 
her apartment than a suit of armour; 
this she put on, and was on that account 
condemned as a relapsed heretic. 

At Genoa, many suits of armour are 
exhibited, in which it is said ladies of 
honourahle station performed a crusade 
to the Holy Land in 1301, and this 
narration, hased on falsehood, is not 
even suspected of imposture, by many 
who visit the collection. 

By the chicanery and fraud practised 
In amassing armour, and passing it off 
as other than it really was, all just 
notions of chronology were confounded ; 
and as suits, said to be ancient were 
often decorated, with modern inventions, 
the dates of the imitative arts were 
altogether confused. The clergy saw 
their interest was furthered by the 
superstitious belief that certain armour 
belonged to remarkable people ; for the 
same credulity that believed it, the more 
readily gave credence to the relics of the 
•aints, which were by them so generally 

It would take a volume of no ordi- 
nary size to recount the many fabulous 
legends which gained almost universal 
credit. In the eleventh century it was 
said that the real spear-head which 
pierced the side of our Saviour was dug 
up at Antioch. This spear was the 
occasion of a battle of great notoriety 
being gained before the city by Ray- 
mond of Toulouse. The head of the 
" holy spear " was shown to Sir John 
Maundeville when he visited Paris in 
the reign of Edward iii., but he asserts 
it fo be an imposture. ''I have seen," 
says he, "the real spere-heed often- 
tyme at Constantynople, but it is 
grettere than that at Pary's." This 
real, "spere-heed" is still exhibited to 
the curious traveller at the monastery 
of Eitch mai-adzen in Armenia, stamped 
with a Greek Cross, a symbol not the 
most likely to be found on the spear 
of a heathen soldier. The miraculous 
power of this weapon in arresting the 
plague is fully believed in, and on this 
beneficial errand it is not unfrequently 
dispatched to considerable distances. 
What will not find credence when such 
mummeries are believed ! 

The sword with which Peter cut off 
the ear of Malchus, was shown at Rome ; 
but as there appeared no reason why 
Rome alone should enjoy the benefit of 
the fraud, Venice and Constantinople 

each had a sword of the same description; 
exhibited at the same time, said to have 
performed the same service. The sword, 
too, which beheaded John the Baptist 
was shown at Avignon, and the one that 
decapitated St. Paul, in the " Eternal 
City." In relics of this kind a strong 
contention prevailed, nor did even the 
absurdity of^ exhibiting the same weapon, 
in different places, at the same time^ 
discountenance the fraud, as each pro- 
prietor strenuously maintained the genu- 
ineness of his own relic. 

In some instances, in former times, 
names were given to celebrated swords, 
or rather to the swords of celebrated 
men. One belonging to Charlemagne 
was called Joyeuse ; this was shown at 
Roquemado, St. Denis, and Nuremburg 
at the same period ; the keeping of 
the sword of the fabulous Guy Earl of 
Warwick was so late as 1542 granted to 
one Edward Creswell, with a stipend of 
two pence per day. One attributed to 
William the Conqueror was preserved in 
a house belonging to king Henry viii., 
at Beddington, Surrey; and that called 
Curtana may have been seen by many of 
our reader?, as it is, even now, borne at 
the ceremony of the coronation of our 

If it be a matter of any importance to 
go back to the times of antiquity either 
to gratify our curiosity, or to draw from 
thence lessons of instruction and use- 
fulness, it is desirable to ascertain with 
tolerable correctness the truth and false- 
hood of any information handed down 
to us ; and in this respect an attempt to 
clear away a mass of 'absurd traditions 
relative to ancient arms and armour is 
praiseworthy. The armoury at Good- 
rich Court is the first collection of im- 
portance formed on the basis of true 
chronology, decided on the most attentive 
and careful examination of authorities. 
Sir Samuel Rush Me^ick has in addi- 
tion to his laboura at Goodrich Court, 
arranged the royal horse-armoury in the 
Tower of London, and fixed in agree- 
ment with royal direction, the true eras 
to the suits in the guard chamber at 
Windsor Castle. 

It is well that the warlike propensities 
of our ruder forefathers have subsided, 
and that it is no longer the usage or 
taste of the times for men to array them- 
selves in coats of mail, and joust with 
each other for pastime or renown ; but 
what has been in olden times has an 
interest from the circumstance that it 



throws much light on the manners of 
those who are now mouldering, or rather 
who have mouldered, in the grave; 
those from whom our existence is de- 
rived, and whose hahits, no doubt, even 
at this distant period, in some degree 
influence our own. 
The old adage 

" Follow tby father, good son, 
And do as thy fitther has done," 

has heen influential in all ages, for 
virtue or vice; the peaceful or warlike 
disposition of one period has a strong 
influence on the times that follow. A 
true knowledge of armour is necessary 
to topographers in correctly describing 
or ascertaining the date of a monu- 
mental efiigy, a painting on glass, or 
an ancient seal. It is for the same 
reason useful to the antiquary and the 

It has been said with much truth that 
there is scarcely a surer criterion of 
date than that of dress. Down to the 
time of Charles ii. all artists among our 
forefathers represented the subjects on 
which they were employed in the fashion 
of their own time, as may be exemplified 
in many ways. 

The illuminated missals of other-days, 
however defective in many points, aflbrd 
the most faithful portrait of the dresses, 
dwellings and furniture of the times in 
which they were executed. Such as 
are curious in these things must have 
observed that in the representation of 
the crucifixion, the ascension, or Christ 
betrayed, the Roman soldiers invariably 
are habited and armed like those who 
lived in the days of the artist. Some 
errors in books detected by a knowledge 
of armour, are as ludicrous as they are 
extraordinary. An account of Arthur 
king of little Britain was written in the 
time of Edward ii., but a copy of it 
being made at the close of the reign of 
Henry vi., the artist either through 
ignorance or inattention, disregarding 
the description of armour mentioned in 
the book, which referred to tl>e fourteenth 
century, introduced the plate armour of 
the period in which he lived, instead of 
the mail armour used before. 

A knowledge of armour is also of 
great service to the collector of mss., 
and early printed books, as it will fre- 
quently detect errors and frauds that 
cannot by other means be discovered. 
After all the discussions and learned 
dissertatiims as to the priority of print- 

ing between Germany and Holland, the 
question may perhaps be decided by this 
test, — the Speculum Salvationis being 
adorned with wood cuts, the armour of 
which is of the commencement of the 
reign of Henry vi. H. O. 


No one at the close of an advanced 
life has ever regretted that his early 
years were spent in the service of God. 
But thousanas have regretted, when upon 
a dying-bed, that the morning of their 
days was spent in rebellion against the 
King of kings. "If," says John Angell 
James, "there be true honour in the 
universe, it is to be found in religion. 
Even the heathens are sensible of this ; 
hence the Romans built the temples of 
Virtue and Honour close together, to 
teach that the way to honour was by 
virtue. Religion is the image of God in 
the soul of man. Can glory itself rise 
higher than this ? What a distinction to 
have this lustre put upon the character 
in youth ! It was mentioned by Paul as 
a singular honour to the believing Jews, 
that they first trusted in Christ ; and in 
referring to Andronicus and Junia, he 
mentions it to their praise that they were 
in Christ before him. To be a child of 
God, an heir of glory, a disciple of Christ, 
a warrior of the cross, a citizen of the 
New Jerusalem, from our youth up, 
adorns the brow with amaranthine 
wreaths of fame. A person converted in 
youth is like the sun rising on a sum- 
mer's morning to shine through a long 
bright day ; but a person converted^ate 
in life is like the evening star, a lovely 
object of Christian contemplation, but 
not appearing till the day is closing, and 
then but for a little while." 

Religion in early life is, moreover, the 
best preparation ^r a cheerful old age. 
Of Mr. Wilberforce, in his declining 
years, we are told, that a stranger might 
have noticed that he was more uniformly 
cheerful than most men of his time of 
life. Those who lived most continually 
with him, could trace distinctly in his 
tempered sorrows, and sustained and 
almost child-like gladness of heart, the 
continual presence of that " peace which 
the world can neither give nor take 
away." The pages of his later journal 
are full of bursts of joy and thankfulness ; 
and with bis children and his chosen 
friends his full heart swelled out ever in 



the same blessed siraios ; he seeme^ too 
happy not to express his happiness ; his 
** song was ever of the lovingkindnesB 9f 
the I^rd." An occasional meeting at 
this time with some who had entered life 
with him, and were now drawing nearly 
to its close, with spirits jaded and temper 
worn in the service of pleasure or ambi- 
tion, brought out strongly the proof of 
his better choice. <'l%is session/' he 

says, " I met again Lord , whom I 

had known when we were both young, 
but of whom I had lost sight for many 
years. He was just again returned to 
parliament, and we were locked up 
together In a committee-room during a 
division. I saw that he felt. awkward 
about speaking to me, and went therefore 
up to him. ' You and I, my lord, were 

Sretty well acquainted formerly.' 'Ah, 
ir. Wilberforce,' he said cordially, and 
then added, with a deep sigh, ' you and 
I are a great many years older now.' 
* Yes, we are ; and for my part I can 
truly say, I do not regret it' 'Don't 
you ? ' he said, with an eager and incre- 
aulous voice, and a look of wondering 
dejection which I never can forget." 




There is something about almost every 
individual of the reptile tribe from which 
all but the naturalist feel a disposition to 
shrink. The appearance of many is un- 
prepossessing ; the power of any in pro- 
duqing animal heat is so limited, that all 
have a coldness from which the touch 
instinctively recoils. Much of the dis- 
like, too, arises from the known danger- 
ous properties of some of the reptile race, 
and the imagined danger of several 
innoxious species* Ignorance and long- 
established prejudices have greatly exag- 
gerated the amount of danger existing 
among them ; and the reader not familiar 
with the subject, will be surprised to 
learn that, with the exception of the 
viper or adder, not one of our native 
reptiles has power to harm; while not 
even that poisonous creature has the will 
to do so, unless treated by man as an 
enemy. Could the individuals of tliis 
portion of the animal kingdom speak for 
themselves, they might tell a history of 
undeserved wrongs, and show how our 
whole tribe of British reptiles, harmless 

as they are to all save the animals which 
the great Creator has given them for 
food» yet find enemies everywhere. Man 
in his aversion to them, kills the poor 
helpless toad, or the no less defenceless 
slow-worm ;*-kills them for no other 
reason, perhaps, than that, though God 
has beautifully organized them, and 
adapted their structure to their condition, 
yet he, in his ill-judging taste, deems 
them unsightly, and forgets that the hol- 
low tree, or the green grass and moss, 
were ma[de for them, as well as for him- 
self. Exposed from their very entrance 
into the world to innumerable dangers, 
receiving scarcely any parental jnrotec- 
tion, forming the common food of many 
birds, and quadrupeds and fishes, the 
reptile tribe form a peculiarly defenceless 
portion of the animal kingdom, and 
would long since have been exterminated 
from our country had they not been pre- 
served by the immense number of their 

The commonest of the few serpent- 
like animals of our country, is that called 
the blind-worm or slow-worm (anguis 
fragilia). Scientific naturalists do not 
place it among the serpent tribe, but' it 
would be popularly called a snake, and 
our limits will not allow room for stating 
the differences between this and the ringed 
snake or the viper. Most persons accus- 
tomed to country walks know this blind-* 
worm— this brownish-looking snake, with 
just a silvery tinge on its skin. It varies 
in length from ten to fourteen inches, its 
head being rather more than half an inch 
long. It has usually a black line down 
the whole length of the back, and several 
rows parallel to this of small dark spots, 
though sometimes the line Is wanting, 
and in many cases the spots are absent. 
The underneath portion of the body is -of 
bluish black, marked with a whitish net- 
work. While the animal is very young, 
none of these marks, except the black 
line, are very apparent, and its colour is 
then of a pale yellowish gray. The slow- 
worm feeds on insects, larvse^ small snails 
and slugs, and the earthworm is especially 
a favourite source of its food. By the aid 
of its muzzle it can excavate holes in 
the earth, three or four feet deep, and it 
makes conduits undermund, describing 
different circuits, and having several 
openings. In these places, it conceals 
itself when rain or frost chill the earth, 
and when the shadows of evening and of 
night are upon the green field ; but in 
sunny noon time it glides out from its 




retreat, and revelling among the green 
grasses and mosses of the elope, or lying 
half hid among the mass of stones^ or 
coiled by the decaying tree, it enjoys 
such happiness as God has made it cap- 
able of receiving from warm air and 
sunshine. A little harmless creature it 
is, quietly drinking in its small share of 
delight ; timid and shrinking as the foot- 
step of man may rustle the withered leaf 
by its side, and so mild and gentle in its 
nature, that though roughly seized and 
irritated, yet it will scarcely attempt to 
bite the finger. Even if, by repeated 
provocation, it is made to do this, yet its 
efibrts are ineffectual to wound, for its 
tinv teeth will scarcely pierce the skin, 
and it has no poison fangs in its jaw. 
In its terror at our grasp, it will, how- 
ever, stitiSsn itself 'into such a state of 
rigidity, that it is said that it sometimes 
breaks in two pieces. It is certainly, as 
its scientific name implies, very fragile, 
so that in some countries, this, as well as 
another somewhat similar animal, is com- 
monly known by the name of glass-ser- 
pent. The poor little creature, so far from 
being either venomous or bUnd, as popu- 
lar ignorance has represented it, is, 
indeed, able to see very well ; and pro- 
bably with this animal, as with most rep- 
tiles, the faculty of sight is by far the 
most perfect of its senses. In the month 
of July, it casts its skin, and it produces 
its young twice in the year. Usually 
when the young have once entered on 
life, the parent takes no concern of them ; 
yet there have been instances in which 
the blind- worm has shown much affection 
for its offspring. 

Happily there are men in the world, 
men wh6 have a love of nature — who 
choose to examine for themselves all the 
works of God, and are not willing to 
believe that the reptile race are unworthy 
of the great Creator's skill. Few, indeed, 
like the enthusiastic naturalist, Mortimer, 
would be willing to expose themselves to 
the bite of a viper, in order to test the effi* 
cacy of a remedy ; but there are some, 
who like the celebrated naturalist of 
Florence, Felix Fontana, have great 
patience of investigation, and would be 
willing to do as he did, and try six thou- 
sand experiments on the poison of that 
animal. Our own admirable erpetologist, 
Professor Bell, has kept the slow-worm in 
his house, and marked its habits both 
there and elsewhere. This gentleman 
observes that this species, like the viper, 
is not easily induced to feed in a state of 

confinement, and adds that, when he has 
kept them, he has offered them vouog 
irogs and insects without being able to 
prevail on them to eat ; though he sug« 
gests that this reluctance might be owing 
to his not knowing exactly which kind of 
food they would prefer. The blind- worm 
itself not unfrequently serves as food to 
hens, ducks, geese, and swans, or to other 
reptiles, and large frogs and toads often 
make it their prey. In White's *' Natural 
History of Selbome," some account is 
related by Mr. George Daniel of a blind- 
worm which he kept. ** A blind- worm," 
says this writer, " that I kept alive for 
nine weeks, would, when touched, turn 
and bite, though not very sharply; its 
bite was not sufiicient to draw blood, but 
it always retained its hold until released. 
It drank sparingly of milk, raising the 
head when drinking. It fed upon the 
little white slug (Umax agrestk) so com- 
mon in fields and gardens, eating six or 
seven of them, one after the other, but it 
did not eat every day. It invariably 
took them in one position. Elevating its 
head slowly above its victim, it would 
suddenly seize the slug by the middle, in 
the same way that a ferret or dog will 
generally take a rat by the loins ; it would 
then hold it thus, sometimes for more 
than a minute, when it would pass its 
prey through its jaws, and swallow the 
slug head foremost. It refused the larger 
slugs, and would not touch either young 
frogs or mice. Snakes kept in the same 
cage took both frogs and mice. The 
blind-worm avoided the water ; the snakes 
on the contrary coiled themselves in the 
pan containing water, which was put into 
the cage, and appeared to delight in it. 
The blind- worm was a remarkably fine 
one, measuring fifteen inches in length." 
Much larger than the blind-worm, and 
presenting a far more formidable appear- 
ance, is our common snake {nairix tor" 
quata,) This animal is usually about 
three feet long, and twisting itself round 
in many coils, has so much of the ser- 
pent aspect, as to terrify the wanderer in 
the woods. And yet the pretty speckled 
snake is perfectly harmless, rarely at- 
tempting to bite, and even when in its 
own defence it tries to do so, the ah-* 
sence of the poisonous fangs renders its 
bite a small matter. It is a very timid 
creature, easily startled, and yet it may^ 
by gentle treatment, be made the friend of 
man. In the isle of Sardinia this snake 
is very common, and it is frequently 
brought into houses and domesticated | 

^t * • '■> 


Bftmslf SNAKES. 

and instances might be quoted in which, 
in our own land, it has been known to 
show some signs of attachment to those 
who have reared it in (heir homes. Sun- 
ning itself in the warm mid-day gleams 
of summer, it is no sooner aware of our 
presence, than it retreats to the bed of 
nettles and brushwood, or coils itself 
comfortably in the hollow tree, happy if 
it be not relentlessly pursued by some 
who may deem that its serpent form gives 
notice of the presence of those deadly 
properties which some of its tribe possess. 
Like other snakes, it is torpid during the 
cold weather, when it retreats to some 
quiet sheltered spot, where, coiled in 
numbers, several of its companions lie 
closely intertwined, there to await the 
return of spring. And then, when grass 
and flowers are gleaming in the sun, the 
snake awakes too from its winter lethargy, 
gliding forth into the woods, and linger- 
ing so often near to the fresh cooling 
streams, as to have acquired the familiar 
name of water-snake. Boys often run 
after it with sticks, tormenting the poor 
little creature till it is highly irritated, 
when it will assume the most fierce atti- 
tudes and expression, shooting forwards 
in a serpentine line, hissing very loudly, 
and emitting, both from its mouth and 
from under its scales, a most offensive 
odour. This snake is cooked and eaten 
in many countries. It is exceedingly 
common in all parts of England, especi- 
ally in moist places, and it . inhabits also 
most of the countries of Europe. The 
upper part of its body, as well as its head, 
are of a light brownish gray colour, tinged 
with green, — in some of these animals, 
almost of an olive colour. Behind the 
upper part of the head, there is either a 
broad collar, or two crescent-like spots 
of bright yellow, at the back of wnich 
there are two broad spots of black. 

The viper, or adder, (pelitts bents) is 
the only one of our British reptiles at all 
deserving the ill repute into which all 
have popularly fallen. It is a less grace- 
ful creature than the snake, moving more 
slowly. It vAries much in colour, some- 
times being of an olive green, at others, of a 
dull brownish tint, or of a rich deep brown 
hue. In some cases all the glittering hues 
of the rainbow seem reflected from its 
skin, as the animal lies basking in sun- 
shine. Sometimes it is quite black. The 
most common colour of the viper 
is, however, brown ; and in most cases it 
is marked by a double range of trans- 
verse spots on the back, and by a row of 

small triangular irregular spots on each 
side, either of black or of a darker brown 
hue than the colour of the body. No 
one, to look at this reptile, gliding slowly 
along, less active than most of its tribe, 
would suppose it to be the most formid- 
able of European serpents. Its. power 
for evil is rendered the greater oy its 
tenacity of life, for it is a most difficult 
thing to kill a viper. Though living 
habitually in dry places, it can remain 
for a long time under water without 
injury. It is not easy to strangle it, and 
severe wounds may be inflicted upon it, 
which seem to do it no hurt. Most 
animals shrink instinctively from its ap- 
proach, so that it has few enemies to 
contend with. Man declares open war 
upon it; the falcon and heron carry it 
off as a prize to their younglings; and in 
forests where the wild boar ranges, he 
too is its enemy ; for secured by his lard 
from its poisonous bite, he attacks it with 
impunity. Its bite is not often mortal to 
man, though most surely so to tribes of 
smaller animals. Some men have perished 
from its attack ; many have been much 
injured by it. The injury difiers doubt- 
less much with differing circumstances. 
The state of health of the person bitten, 
the temperature of the air at the time of 
the wound, the number of the bites in- 
flicted, and the length of time during 
which the viper has had the poison in 
reserve, each has its influence in lessening 
or increasing the danger. Still the bite 
of a viper is, under any circumstances, an 
evil to be greatly dreaded. The wounded 
part swells, becomes at first red, hot, and 
purple, afterwards cold and insensible. 
Violent shooting pains are felt in the 
frame; which are succeeded by swoon- 
ings and involuntary sensations of terror 
of mind. The wound at length, in the 
worst cases, exhibits all the symptoms of 
mortification, and after the most dreadful 
exhaustion, the patient sinks and dies. 
The outward application of olive oil, and 
the internal us^ of ammonia; are generally 
pesorted to; though in some countries, 
great importance is attached to the use of 
olive oil internally, in these cases. It 
was in testing this administration of olive 
oil, that Mortimer generously suffered 
himself to be bitten by a viper; and 
though our life is not our own, and we 
have no right to give it away uncalle,d 
for, yet we must remember that the natu-- 
ralist had full confidence in his own 
remedy, and that, therefore, his self- 
denying endurance of a period of suffer- 




ing for the good of his fellow creatures 
may well deserve oar praise and admi- 

The mode of injecting the poison into 
the wound is this. On each side of the 
upper jaw of the viper, there are two, 
three, or more tubular teeth. The poison 
is secreted at the base of these teeth in a 
sac. When the animal presses its tooth 
into the skin, the secretion enters hy 
means of the tube. The poison is far more 
virulent during hot than cold weather. 
Venemous as the viper is, it is sometimes 
tamed; and women, in some parts of 
Europe, contrive to love it, and train it 
so as that it learns to feel some attach- 
ment to those who show it kindness. 

This animal lives on small quadrupeds, 
mice, lizards, frogs, toads, young birds and 
insects. It also feeds on slugs and snails, 
and like the serpent tribe in general, it 
can, on occasion, exist for many months 
without any food. It is said that vipers 
have even been kept in druggists' shops, 
shut up in casks, without eating for several 
years. During winter, numbers of these 
animals lie interlaced in winding coils, in 
a dormant state, in the clefts of the rocks, 
in the hollow trunks of old decayed trees, 
from which, in tlie warm days of spring, 
they emerge to lie on the sunny slopes of 
some grassy hill side, exposed to the 
eastern sky. It has been ascertained that 
there are some animals, which if they 
bite they cannot injure, and their poison 
is said to be powerless on the common 
leech, on the slow-worm, and on other 

A friend, who in his youth resided for 
some time on the coast of Normandy, in 
France, informs us, that vipers in the 
gardens of that district used to be so 
common, as to give employment to a 
distinct class of men, designated viper* 
catchers'. He well remembers their visit- 
ing his mother's house, in their singular 
attire, equipped in large jack-boots and 
gauntlets of leather, to fortify them 
against the bite of the reptiles, with 
whom they waged war. An anecdote of 
a viper-catcher of this class may interest 
our readers, and relieve our scientific 
details. Having been employed to catch 
the reptiles, and sell them alive to parties, 
who probably wished them for scientific 
purposes, the subject of our narrative 
was accustomed, for security sake, to put 
them over night in a small cask, adjoin- 
ing his bed. On one occasion, however, 
he, in a fit of carelessness, omitted to 
secure the lid properly. Awaking in 

the morning, he found to bib horror, that 
the reptiles, attracted by the warmth of 
his couch, had crawled into it, and lay 
twined, some across his legs, and some 
across his arms. Maintaining his self- 
possession, he lifted up his heart to God 
for succour, and without moving, called 
loudly on a woman, who slept in an 
adjoining apartment Desiring her not 
to make any attempts to disengage the 
reptiles, he implored her earnestly to heat 
with all dispatch some milk, and noise- 
lessly to bring it in a pan to the foot of 
his bed. She did so, and the reptiles 
attracted by its agreeable smell, gradu- 
ally uncoiled themselves and proceeded 
to lap it. They were then of course se- 
cured, and we presume it is needless to 
add, that the lid of the cask was not 
again left unfastened. 

The viper is. in some country places, 
called adder. In the Scripture we read 
of it frequently. Thus the psalmist, in 
describing the evil and false, says of 
wicked men, " The poison of asps is under 
their lips." The word which our trans- 
lators have thus used, invariably signifies 
some venemous serpent, but it seems 
impossible to ascertain which particular 
species is intended. Most probably it has 
no very definite application, but would 
simply refer to any venemous serpent of 
Palestine, Arabia, or Egypt. Our readers, 
we presume, will recollect an important 
passage of Scripture, in which allusion is 
made to the malignant character of the 
viper : " O generation of vipers, who 
hath warned you to fiee from the wrath 
to come," was the Baptist's startling 
warning to the Pharisees and Sadducees 
of old. 


" I HAVE lost my whole fortune," said 
a merchant, as he returned one evening 
to his home ; " we can no longer keep 
our carriage. We must leave this large 
house. The children can no longer go 
to expensive schools. . Yesterday I was a 
rich man ; to-day there is nothing I can 
call my own." 

" Dear husband," said the wife, " we 
are still rich in each other and our chil- 
dren. Money may pass away, but God 
has given us a better treasure in those 
active hands and loving hearts." 

" Dear father," said the children; " do 
not look so sad ; we will help you to get 
a living." 





'<What can you do, poor tilings?" 
said he. 

" You shall see I yo.i shall see ! *' 
answered several voices. ''It is a pity 
if we have heen to school for nothing. 
How can the father of eight children he 
poor ? We shall work, and make you rich 

'* I shall help," said the younger girl, 
hardly four years old. " I will not have 
any new thingiT bought, and I shall sell 
my great doll." 

The heart of the husband and father, 
which had sunk within hia bosom like a 
stone, was lifted up. — The sweet enthu- 
siasm of the scene cheered him, and his 
nightly prayer was like the song of 

They left their stately house. The 
servants were dismissed. Pictures and 
plate, rich carpets and fumitmre were 
sold ; and she who had been the mistress 
of the mansion shed no tears. 

'* Pay every debt," said she ; ** let no 
one suffer through us, and we may be 

He rented a neat cottage, and a small 
pi^e of ground, a few miles from the 
city. With the aid of his sons, he culti- 
vated vegetables for the market. He 
viewed, with delight and astonishment, 
the economy of his wife, nurtured as she 
had been in wealth, and the efficiency 
which his daughters soon acquired under 
her training. 

The eldest one instructed in the house- 
hold, and also assisted the younger chil- 
dren ; besides, they executed various 
works, which they had learned as accom- 
plishments, but which they found could 
be disposed of to advantage. They em- 
broidered with taste some of the orna- 
mental parts of female apparel, which 
were readily sold to a merchant in the 

' They cultivated flowers, sent bouquets 
to market in the cart that conveyed the 
vegetables; they plaited straw, they 
pamted maps, they e^tecuted plain 
needlework. Every one was at her post, 
busy and cheerful. The little cottage 
was like a bee-hive. 

" I never enjoyed such health before," 
said the father. 

** And I was never so happy before," 
said the mother. 

'' We never knew how many things we 
could do, when we lived in the great 
house," said the children, ** and we love 
each other a great deal better here. — You 
call us your fittle bees." 

"Yes," replied the father, "and you 
make just such honey as my heart likes 
to feed on." 

Economy as well as industry was 
strictly observed ; nothing was wasted ; 
nothing unnecessary was purchased. The 
eldest daughter became assistant teacher 
in a distinguished female seminary, and 
the second took her place as instructresa 
to the family. 

The dwelling which had always been 
kept neat, they were soon able to beau- 
tify. Its construction was improved, and 
the vines and flowering trees were re- 

Elanted around it. The merchant was 
appier under his woodbine - covered 
porch in a summer's evening, than he 
had been in his showy dressing-room. 

** We are now thriving and pro- 
sperous," said he ; " shall we return to 
the city?" 

" Oh, no I " was the unanimous reply. 

" Let us remain," said the wife, 
" where we have found health and con- 

" Father," said the youngest, '* all we 
children hope you are not going to be 
rich again ; for then," she added, ** we 
little ones were shut up in the nursery, 
and did not see much of you or mother. 
Now we all live together, and sister, who 
loves us, teaches us, and we learn to be 
industrious and useful. We were none 
of us happy when we were rich, and did 
not work. So, father, please not to be a 
rich man any more ""^Mrs. Sigoumey, 


Calling, some years ago, at a mercan- 
tile warehouse in the city, on the 3 1st of 
December, to have half-an-hour's friendly 
chat with my old acquaintance Mr. 
Packwell, I found that worthy gentle- 
man's establishment in a state of unusual 
bustle. The passages leading to his 
counting-house were blocked up by bales 
of goods, piled on each other in extra-> 
ordinary confusion. Nimble clerks were 
plying th«ir quills with bewildering 
rapidity ; voices in various tones of loud- 
ness were calling out the names of tweeds, 
merinoes, doeskino, broad-cloths, and fifty 
other things, with a clamour that was 
quite exciting. It was some time before 
I could find my way to the little room 
where my friend was usually seated. 
Even the aspect of that quiet spot was 
changed however. My friend's counten- 





aiice, too, wore a hue of more than 
ordinary gravity ; bis spectaclee were on 
his noee, and he was looKing rapidly over 
a thick ledger, with brazen clasps and 
vellum boards. Bustle, bustle, bustle, 
every thing teemed to be bustle. It was 
actually a minute or two before my friend 
recognised my entrance, so absorbed was 
he in his occupation, giving a tick 
every now and then with a large goose- 
quiU, opposite each sum which a clerk 
cried out "Hallo, Packwell," I ex- 
claimed, " what has happened, to trans- 
form my old sedate friend into such a 
steam-engine to-day." 

Packwell,on being thus accosted, looked 
up, and seeing me said, " Ah I my dear 
fellow, you must really excuse me to-day. 
Every moment is precious. It is the 31st 
of Deeember, ana we are busy to^'n^ 
stock, 1 would not for a hundred pounds 
omit it." 

« Taking stock," I cried, "then that 
explains the mysterv." 

" You had better, continued my friend, 
" choose any other day than this for your 
city calls. Almost every man of business 
will be occupied in taking a note of what 
he has done during the last year, how 
much he has gained in his trade, or how 
much he has lost; what goods remain in 
hand, and how he shall commence the 
next year to best advantage." 

"Then it is time for me to be ofi)" I 
cried ; " this is not the opportunity, I see, 
for five minutes' comf<»rtable chat with 
you ; I beg your pardon, my dear fHend, 
for my awkward intrusion.^' Thus say- 
ing, I bid Pack well a hasty adieu ; and 
threading my way out of his- crowded 
warehouse, retired to the solitude of my 
own apartment. Even there, however, I 
carried with me the impression of the 
scene I had witnessed, "^e are busy 
taking stock" The phrase rung in my ear. 
"To-day,*^ I said to myself, "is the Slst 
of December. Let me also follow Pack- 
well's example, and take stock. I, too, 
am a merchantman,-— a servant trading 
with my Master's talents. Let me see, 
then, how far I have made a profitable 
use or otherwise of that which has been 
entrusted to me." I followed the train 
of thought which my mind had thus 
opened up, and so useful did I find the 
occupation, that at the end of each year, 
I have been accustomed to take a 
similar retrospect The chimes of 1851 
will have rung ere this paper reaches my 
reader's eyes. It will be wise and profit- 
able for us both, however, to join together. 

and to take our stock cf the year that is 

In taking stock, the tradesman is par- 
ticular in examining how much remains 
of each article. Its dimensions are 
measured, and an estimate is made of the 
value of the remnant. The flight of 
another year thus reminds us of life. How 
many years have I left to me? how many 
months ? how many days ? A solemn 
question this. David seems to have felt 
it so, when he cried, " So teach us to 
number our days." Worldly men have 
often felt a similar impression creep over 
them. Dryden the poet experienced this 
feeling strongly, when he compared his 
life to a snow-ball ; the firmer he grasped 
it in his hand, the faster did it melt away. 
David's simile will appear more striking, 
in proportion as we dwell upon it. To 
understand the meaning of numbering 
our days, visit the cell of a condemned 
criminal, and see how he counts the 
hours as they wing away their flight Go 
to a ship at sea, when its water has run 
short, and see how its remaining gallons 
and pints are husbanded and measured 
out. In an Italian prison, a chief once 
devised a plan for the torture of his vic- 
tims, by inclosing them in an iron cell 
with seven windows. Each day, the 
prison, by a curious machinery, con- 
tracted, and a window less remained, 
until at last the walls met and crushed 
the captive to death. As each window 
disappeared, how must he literally have 
numbered his days! Even in my first 
eflbrt to number mine, however, I find 
myself foiled. Their measure I cannot 
tell. Through the mercy of God they 
may be many. If it be his will, they may 
be few. This very hour may be my last. 
Calling at the house of a friend, I found 
her much agitated. Her domestic had 
gone out to purchase for herself a wedding 
bonnet. She was in good health, and 
returned pleased with her choice. Within 
an hour afterwards, she had fallen down 
a corpse. I find then that my remaining 
days I cannot number. Each one has 
inscribed upon it, " To-day^ if ye will 
hear my voice." If I would take stock 
of time aright, I must live each day as if 
it were my last, and have my eye so 
fixed on invisible things, as if continually 
waiting for the intelligence, " The bride* 
groom is come, go ye forth to meet him." 

But though I cannot measure what 
remains of life, I can take stock with 
too sad accuracy, of what is past The 
tradesman enters minutely in his books 




the goods \7hich he has received, the 
profit which they have borne him, and 
their eligibility as an investment. Here, 
too, however, when I begin to take stock, 
I scarce know where to commence. Pri- 
vileges, opportunities, mercies arise, more 
in number than my feeble powers of 
computation can reckon. In one of the 
streets of London stands the National 
Debt Office. Once on a visit there, I 
looked with eager interest for some large 
folios, recording, as I supposed, the seven 
or eight hundred millions sterling, which 
constitute the vast amount of England's 
liabilities. In looking back, however, on 
my life in the past year, I find^ even the 
above enormous debt a trifle compared 
to that which I owe to the Lord. Picking 
out a few of the more prominent of my 
obligations, I iidd first on the list, that 
great salvation, wrought out by the Lord 
Jesus Christ for perishing sinners. During 
the past year, the Koh-e-noor diamond 
arrived in England, closely watched and 
carefully guarded ; but this has been a far 
more precious jewel, laid down, as it were, 

«| the highway for each passer-by to lay 
old of and appropriate for himself. Have 
you and I then, dear reader, secured this 
pearl of great price, or has the last year 
slipped away without our doing so ? We 
may, in 1 850, have had flattering honours ; 
we may have built an elegant villa ; fur- 
nished our house superbly; started a 
dashing equipage ; lodged a few hundreds 
more at our bankers, but if we have 
trifled with the great salvation, let us 
take stock again, for we are poor — poorer 
than words can utter — if with all our 
getting we have not got heavenly under- 

I find next, on looking at my stock- 
book, that I have had, during the year, no 
less than eight thousand seven hundred 
and sixty hours, to improve for my 
master's service. On visiting the Mint, on 
Tower-hill, some years ago, I was struck 
with the blank appearance of the metal 
before it was coined, by its rapid move- 
ment towards the die, and the swiftness 
with which the stamp descended. What, 
but a moment before, was a plain surface, 
was in the next a coin, having a clear and 
well-defined figure upon it, and a legible 
superscription, except in some instances 
where the carelessness of the attendant 
caused the impression to be marred. So 
has it been with my hours. An impression, 
for good or evil, has been left upon each. 
How then does this part of our stock 
look! Was there a right improvement 

of these hours, while they were with us ? 
Has wisdom or folly struck the die? 
Whose superscription — Christ's or Satan's 
— was each one made to bear? Ah! 
here, I fear, many of us must hang down 
the head, and cry with the poet : 

** Lost, lost, lost ! 

A gem of countless price, 
Cut from the living rock, 
And graved in Paradise. 

Lost, lost, lost ! 

I feel all search is vain ; 
That gem of countless cost 

Can ne'er be mine again." 

If 1850 thus bears witness against us, 
oh ! let 1851 find us wiser redeemers of 
these precious visitors. Let us seek 
pardon through faith in Christ for the 
past, and resolve in the strength of his 
Spirit, for a wiser dedication of our hours 
for the future. 

During 1850, I perceive, also, that I 
have had many opportunities. Oppor- 
tunity is the flower, the quintessence of 
time; the favourable tide, in which the 
vessel may make progress ; the trade- wind 
in which double speed may be attained ; 
the season in which the hot iron may be 
struck and bent according to the will of 
the artificer. How then, my reader, 
stands your stock of opportunities? If 
you have not yet closed with Christ, were 
there not seasons during the past year 
when God seemed to strive with you by 
his Spirit, and beseech you to be recon- 
ciled to him through faith in the blood of 
his Son ; times when you were almost 
persuaded to be a Christian; when the 
world had less hold of your affections, 
and sin was felt to be an iron bondage ? 
These were your opportunities. Oh T if 

1850 upbraids you with their loss, let not 

1851 find you equally foolish. Have there 
not,however, even with the true Christian, 
been many opportunities during the past 
year, sent down fresh, as it were, from 
the hand of his heavenly Master, but 
which found him careless and unwatchful 
of their descent? Were there not seasons 
when the Holy Spirit seemed to breathe 
on you with a peculiar unction and power, 
wooing and inviting you to prayer and 
meditation on the word? Were these 
improved or neglected ? Were there not 
times when the love of Christ was brought 
home to your heart, with a tenderness 
which invited you to communion with 
him in your closet, and was the gracious 
invitation resisted or quenched? Were 
there not moments when a word spoken 
for the Saviour would have proved a word 



in season to some poor sinner, but the 
opportunity, when it came, found you 
listless and worldly? Have there not, 
during the past year, been ebbings and 
flowings of the waters, and gales of the 
Spirit, which rightly improved would 
have carried you far on in your course 
to Zion ? 

During the year 1850, we have had 
also many mercies; private mercies, 
family mercies, social mercies, temporal 
mercies, spiritual mercies, mercies which 
we have seen, and mercies which we have 
not seen. We have lived, indeed, in a 
world where daily, hourly, and momen- 
tarily there has been some commiinica- 
tiona of God's kindness to us. What 
effect, then, have these mercies had on our 
souls? If, reader, you still stand at a 
distance from your Father's house, each 
one of these mercies had a message of 
kindness inscribed upon it, inviting you, 
as a wandering prodigal, to return to 
God, and be happy in the fulness of his 
love. Oh! let not such goodness Hud 
you, in 1851, still hardened and im- 

' ' Behold a stranger at the door ! ' 

He gently knocks ; has knock'd before ; 
Has waited long ; is waiting still. 
Tou use no other friend so ill." 

But even on you, O man of God, 
have these mercies had that effect which 
they were designed to produce? Have 
they constrained you to present your 
body a *' living sacrifice ? " Can you sing 
with David, "Thy loving-kindness is 
before mine eyes, and I have walked in 
thy truth ? " If humiliation at the retro- 
spect arises, ma^ 1851 find us all with 
less to lament m this respect. While 
clinging to Christ alone for justification, 
righteousness, and sanctification, may the 
close of that year, if spared to see it, record 
corruptions slain, evidences brightened, 
graces in healthy action, love to the 
Saviour overflowing, and the soul waiting 
in lively and daily expectation for the 
coming of its Lord. 

To conclude the whole, let the follow- 
ing pithy words of an old divine be duly 
weighed : — 

" The time is coming, yea, it is near 
even at the door, when time shall be no 
more. This was the voice of the seventh 
angel. 'And the angel which I saw stand 
upon the sea and upon the earth lifted up 
his hand to heaven, and sware by Him 
that liveth for ever and ever, .... that 
there should be time no longer.* Who 
was this? a man? No, an angel. Did 

he say it? No, he sware if. Did he 
sware by himself?. No, he sware by Him 
that lives for ever. That time should be 
little ? No, that it should be no longer. 
Time should be no more. And what if 
this time should come even in your time? 
What if now the seventh ane^el should 
lift up his hand to heaven, and take this 
oath ? If this time be far off, yet sure I 
am, and without all peradventure, that it 
is not far ofi' to thee and to me. It may 
be before this year, this month, this week, 
this night that God may say to his angel, 
* Go to such a man and such a woman. 
I will give them no more time; bring 
them hither, and let them give an account 
of what they have done with all their 
time, for I roust have a reckoning of all 
time past.' And then comes in, so much 
in folly and revelling ; so much in foolish 
idling, etc. * Oh!* will God say, ' were 
these the things I gave you time for? 
No, no ; it was for heaven and salvation 
you had your time ;' and if that time has 
been misimproved, — away, away passes 
time, and eternity enters upon the soul. 
Is not here a motive to make us flee to 
Christ? Oh ! my brethren, now, now^ 
ever, redeem the time, for anon time will 
be gone, and then succeeds eternity, 
eternity, eternity.** E. V. 


AiE-BEDs are not, as some people sup- 
pose, of modern origin. They wei^ 
known between three and four hundred 
years ago, as appears from a cut, copied 
from some figures attached to the first 
translation of Vegetius, a.d. 1511. It 
represents soldiers reposing on them in 
time of war, with a mode of inflating 
them by bellows. 

This application of air was probably 
known to the Romans. Heliogabalus 
used to amuse himself with the guests he 
invited to his banquets, by seating them 
on large hags or beds, ^' full of wind,'* 
which, being made suddenly to collapse, 
threw the guests on the ground. 

Dr. Arnott, the author of " Elements 
of Physics," a few years ago proposed 
hydrostatic beds, especially for invalids. 
These are capacious bags, formed of 
India rubber cloth, and filled with water 
instead of feathers, hair, etc. Upon one 
of these a soft thin mattress is laid, and 
then the ordinary coverings. A person 
floats on these beds as on water alone, for 



the liquid in the bag adapts itself to the 
uneven surface of the body, and supports 
every part reposine upon it with a uni- 
form pressure. Water-beds were, how- 
ever, known to the ancients, for Plutarch, 
In his " Life of Alexander," states that 
the people in the province of Babylon 
slept during the hot months on skins 
filled with water. — Ewhahk'a Hydraulics. 


Florence, a city of central Italy, and 
capital of the Grand Duchy of Tuscany, 
stands in a richly- wooded and well-cul- 
tivated valley on both sides of the river 
Arno ; beautified by the Apennines, and 
though rather dull, is a well-built and 
agreeable town. It is of nearly a square 
shape, the sides of which almost corre- 
spond with the cardinal points. The 
city is inclosed with an old wall, about 
five miles in circuit, flanked with towers, 
and pierced by seven gates, which, as a 

Mence, are useless, and, by checking 
circulation of the air, render it less 
healthful. Four bridges furnish commu- 
nication between the opposite aides of the 
river. There is a peculiarity in the paving 
of the streets worthy of remark; it is 
flagged with large flat stones, chiselled 
to prevent horses from sliding. 

The number of public buildings in 
Florence is large; there are no fewer 
than one hundred and seventy churches 
and eighty-nine convents, twelve hospi- 
tals and eight theatres, two ducal palaces, 
and many others of inferior grade. "To 
this hour," it has been observed, " Flo- 
rence bears the aspect of a city filled 
with nobles and their domestics, — a city 
of bridges, churches, and palaces. Every 
building has a superb and architectural 
form ; each angle of a street presents an 
architectural view." The houses in Flo- 
rence may, indeed, be said to resemble 
palaces, so large are they, and so hand- 

Passing over various objects of interest, 
the church of Santa Croce first claims 
our attention. It has been called the 
Pantheon of Florence and the West- 
minster Abbey of Italy. Assuredly it is 
extremely interesting from its containing' 
the tombs of so many distinguished men. 
Here repose the ashes of Dante, to whom 
the Italians are indebted for their high 

Soetic fame. He brought the Tuscan 
ialect into repute, and enabled the min- 

strels to establish a national poetry. Pity 
that hii ambitious spirit led him to quit 
Parnassian retreats, and join himself to a 
factious party, then prevailing in Flo- 
rence, which terminated in his baniih«« 
ment, and finally in his dying an exile ! 
The remains of Galileo likewise repose 
here. For maintaining that the ebrth 
goes round the sun, he was imprisoned, 
as is well known, for a year in the Inqui- 
sition, and compelled to renounce the 
heretical opinion, as it was then deemed 
by the fathers, in order to secure his 
liberation. We have said *' then deemed," 
but it is questionable whether we should 
not say, now deemed heretical ; for in a 
journal lately published at Rome, under 
the superintendence of the present Roman 
catholic archbishop of Ireland, Galileo's 
theory was gravely opposed as being con- 
trary to sound doctrine ; and the sun was 
proclaimed as being only a few feet in 
size. So much for papal enlightenment ! 
Galileo was a second time confined within 
the walls of the Inquisition for having 
published his opinions. Two long years 
was the term of this second incarceration ; 
but it did not quench his untiring spirit 
of research, and his thirst for discovery. 
He pursued his investigations, and greatly 
improved the telescope. His incessant 
study, however, and the use of his glasses, 
so impaired his sight that at length he 
became quite blind. 

The first instrument made by this man 
of science was, by himself, presented to 
the doge of Venice ; his second, which 
was especially endeared to him by the 
fatigue experienced in its construction 
through many a midnight watch, re- 
mained entire, and was to be seen a few 
years since, in the museum of Florence. 
By means of this instrument he had dis- 
covered the satellites of Jupiter. A letter 
to Galileo from Kepler, his brother astro- 
nomer, on that event, is very charac- 
teristic, and may not here be deemed out 
of place. " I was sitting idle at home," 
says the latter, ''thinking of you and 
your letters, most excellent Galileo, when 
Wachenfels stopped his carriage at my 
door to tell me the news; and much was 
my wonder when I heard it : such was 
my agitation (for at once it decided an 
old controversy of ours) that, what with 
his joy and my surprise, and the laughter 
of both, we were for some time unable, 
he to speak, and I to listen. At last I 
began to consider how they could be 
there, without overturning my * Myste- 
rious Cosmographicum/ published Ihir- 




teen yean ago. Not that I doubt their 
existence. So far from it, I am longing 
for a glass, that I may, if possible, get 
the start of you, and find two for Mar?, 
six or eight for Saturn, etc." 

It is difficult to imagine the feelings of 
this great astronomer when, having con- 
structed his telescope, he first turned it 
to the heavens, and discovered that there 
were mountains and valleys in the moon, 
— that the moon itself was another earth, 
the earth another planet,— all subject to 
the same laws. What an outburst of 
Joy, we may suppose, must have been 
neard by a stanaer-by at that moment ! 
When again, too, directing his instru- 
ment upward, he found himself lost 
amcmg the fixed stars, how overpowering 
must have been his emotion ! And yet 
all this was only as the first streak of the 
orient that ushers in the day compared 
with the full blaze of light which now 
shines around us. 

At the close of the year 1633, by order 
of the Inquisition, Galileo came to Ar- 
cetrif which is without the walls of Flo- 
rence, near the Porta Romans, where he 
passed the seven last years of his life. 
This spot has been beautifully noticed 
by Rogers : 


Nearer we hall 

Thy sunny slope, Areetri, sung of old 

For its green wine ; dearer to met to most, 

As dwelt on by that great astronomer, 

Se^en years a prisoner at the city gate, 

Let in but with his grave-clothes. Sacred be 

His villa,— Justly was it called the gem ! 

Sacred the lawn, where many a cypress threw 

Its length of shadow, while he watch'd the stars ! 

Sacred the vineyard where, while yet his sight 

Olimmer'd, at blush of mom he dress'd his vines. 

Chanting aloud, in gaiety of heart, 

Some verses of Ariosto ! There, unseen, 

In manly beauty Hilton stood before him, 

Gazing -with reverent awe— Milton his guest, 

Just then come forth, all life and enterprise; 

He in his old age and extremity, 

Blind, at noon-day exploring with his staff; 

His eyes uptum'd as to the golden sun, 

His eyeballs idly rolling. Little then 

Did Galileo think whom he received ; 

That in his hand lie held the hand of one 

Who could requite him— who would spread his 

O'er lands and seas — great as himself, nay, 

greater ; 
Milton as little that in him he saw. 
As in a glass, what he himself should be. 
Destined so soon to fall on evil days 
And evil tongues— so soon, alas ! to live 
In darkness, and with dangers compass'd round, 
And solitude." 

But we must not] forget other [names. 
The tortured and proscribed Machiavelli, 
the poetic Alfieri, and the incomparable 
Michael Angelo— these also found sepul- 
ture in Santa Croce. Of the latter it is 
recorded that, when he set out from 
Florence to build the dome of St. Peter's, 

he turned his horse round in the road to 
contemplate once more that of the cathe- 
dral, as it rose in the gray of the morning 
from among the pines and cypresses of 
the city, and that he said, after a pause, 
" Like thee I will not build one. Better 
than thee I cannot.*' He never, indeed, 
spoke of it but «¥ith admiration ; and tra- 
dition says, his tomb, by his own desire, 
was to be so placed in the Santa Croce 
as that from it might be seen, when the 
doors of the church stood open, that 
noble work of Bruneleschi. But we lose 
ourselves amid the contemplation of the 
men of genius whose remains are deposited 
here. When we think, too, of the pro- 
bable disclosures of the last day in refer- 
ence to the gifted tenants of these tombs, 
we are saddened at the thought, and are 
ready to exclaim. Would that Christian 
excellence were ever allied to intellectual 
greatness ! Alas I alas, that this should 
so rarely be the case ! 

Michael Angelo's tomb is of Carrara 
marble. The three sister arts — painting, 
sculpture, and architecture — are seated 
upon it in the attitude of mourning ; th^ ' 
latter is esteemed the best. On the 
tomb of Dante is seated the statue of 
himself; on the right, a colossal figure 
representing Italy pointing with triumph 
to the poet on the left. Poetry leans 
weeping on the sarcophagus. Alfieri 's 
monument, by Canova, is well known ; a 
side chapel contains the monument of 
the countess of Albany, the widow of the 
Pretender, the romantic but unsuccessfiil 
adventurer, prince Charles Stuart, in the 
rebellion of 1745. 

The Palozzi Piti contains some of the 
finest paintings in the world. Among 
these are the celebrated Madonna della 
Siggiola, by Raphael, the sweetest, if not 
the grandest of all his Madonnas; and 
ihe •' Three Fates," by Michael Angelo. 

The far-famed Florence gallery of 
paintings and of sculpture contidns also 
some of the greatest chef d^oBuvres in art. 
The five works of sculpture collected in 
the apartments called the Tribune are, 
indeed, sufiScient in themselves to confer 
reputation on any museum. 

The Hall of Niobe is, however, the 
finest thing in Florence ; its figures, sup- 
posed to have been executed by Scopas, 
being considered among the most inter- 
esting efforts of Grecian art that Italy 
possesses. Niobe and her youngest 
daughter is the grandest group in the 
gallery. The contrast of passion and of 
beauty, and the turn of the right arm. 



with which she clasps her terrified child, 
are admirable. The eldest daughter and 
dying son are also very fine. An inter- 
esting object IS also here, in the shape of 
a mask executed by Michael Angeto at 
the age of fifteen. But we might go on 
giving descriptions of statues, bronzes, 
paintings, — ^until we had filled a volume. 
We must say a little more of Florence 

The origin of the city is not clearly 
ascertained, but it owed its first distinc- 
tion to Sylla, who planted in it a Roman 
colony. In the reign of Tiberius, it was 
one of the principal cities of Italy, and 
was distinguished by its writers and 
orators. In 541, it was almost wholly 
destroyed by the reigning king of the 
Goths, Totila. About two hundred and 
fifty years afterwards, it was restored by 
Charlemagne, and was for a lengthened 
period in Italy what Athens had been in 
Greece in the days of Xenophon and 
Thucydides. At length, in 1537, the 
Medici, from being the first of the citi- 
zens, became the sovereigns of Florence, 
since which her fate has been identified 
with that of Tuscany. 

The road from Florence to Tiesole, the 
ancient capital, is most lovely, as it winds 
upwards, bordered by gardens of willows, 
cypress, and pines, and luxuriant vine- 
yards. Tiesole is situated on the top of 
the hill, the view from which of Florence, 
encircled by its amphitheatre of moun- 
tains, and the A mo winding through the 
valley, might be pronounced matchless. 
This city was also ravaged by Attila, that 
wholesale destroyer of countries, well 
known under his awful epithet of ^* God's 
scourge." Nothing of the original build- 
ings remains, except a portion of the 
amphitheatre and some pillars of a temple 
dedicated to Bacchus, and the duomo. 
On this road are passed Petrarch's villa, 
which commands a most lovely view ; the 
house of Dante, with his name carved 
on the door-post ; and that of Boccaccio — 
alone a feast worth the travelling to Flo- 
rence to enjoy. It is a curious sight to 
observe piles of Leghorn hats by the 
road-side, which the women are employed 
in plaiting. 

We cannot conclude without remark^ 
ing on the salubrity of the air of Florence, 
Excepting in the winter -~ when fogs 
abound — it is a most agreeable atmo- 
sphere. Although the sun is most bril- 
liant, it is never too hot, — refreshing 
breezes constantly equalizing the tempe- 
rature. The sunsets at Florence, too, are 

glorious! — more splendid, by far, than 
those in England. S. S. S. 


It is just as possible to keep a calm 
house as a clean house, a cheerful house, 
an orderly house as a furnished house, if 
the heads set themselves to do so. Where 
13 the difficulty of cousulliug each other's 
weakness, as well as each other's wants; 
each other's tempers, as well as each 
other's health ; each other's comfort, as 
well as each other's character? Oh! it 
is by leaving the peace at home to 
chance, instead of pursuing it by system, 
that so many houses are unhappy. It 
deserves notice, also, that almost any one 
can be courteous and forbearing and 
patient in a neighbour's house. If any- 
thing go wrong, or be out of time, or 
disagreeable there, it is made the best 
of, not the worat ; even efforts are made 
to excuse it, and to show that it is not 
felt ; or, if felt, it is attributed to accident, 
not design ; and this is not only easy, but 
natural, in the house of a friend. I will 
not, therefore, believe that what is so 
natural in the house of another is impos- 
sible at home; but maintain, without 
fear, that all the courtesies of social life 
may be upheld in domestic societies. A 
husband, as willing to be pleased at 
home, and as anxious to please as in his 
neighbour's house ; and a wife, as intent 
on making things comfortable every day 
to her family as on set days to her guests, 
could not fail to make their own home 

Let us not evade the point of these 
remarks by recurring to the maxim about 
allowances for temper. It is worse than 
folly to refer to our temper, unless we 
could prove that we ever gained anything 
eood by giving way to it. Fits of ill 
humour punish us quite as much, if not 
more, than those they are vented upon ; 
and it actually requires more effort, and 
inflicts more pain to give them up, than 
would be requisite to avoid them. — 


About the year 1664, in the town 
of Middieburgh, in Zealand (then one 
of the United Provinces of Holland), a 



Christian family had assembled for their 
usual morning worship. The counte- 
nances of the parents were care-worn, 
dejected and pallid. Five little children, 
though poorly clad, looked ruddy and 
cheerful. Refreshed by undisturbed 
sleep, the little troubles of yesterday 
were forgotten, and those of the coming 
day were not anticipated. Childhood is 
not free from its troubles; but one of 
its distinguished privileges is freedom 
from corroding anxiety. Ordinarily 
speaking, while children are with their 
parents they are strangers to deep sor^ 
row, and have no anxious care about 
what they shall eat, and what they shall 
drink, and wherewithal they shall be 

And yet these children had seen more 
of changes and hardships than usually 
fall to the lot of that tender age. The 
elder ones, at least, could remember 
living in a comfortable— perhaps to their 
childish imaginations it seemed a mag- 
nificent—dwelling in England, and they 
used to accompany their parents to the 
village church, and their own father 
was the minister, and everybody in the 
neighbourhood looked upon him with 
respect and affection; and many kind- 
nesses were shown to them for his sake. 
And then — why it was they could not 
understand — ^but one sabbath-day their 
father from the pulpit told the people 
that he must preacn among them no 
more, and the people wept, and he wept, 
and he charged them, whatever might 
become of him, to cleave close to the 
Lord Jesus, and to "let their conver- 
sation be as it becometh the gospel of 
Christ." The children recollected, too, 
that soon afterwards thev quitted that 
nice dwelling, the home of their infancy, 
and for a few months moved about, 
sometimes divided, sometimes together, 
in the houses of one or other of their 
friends, or lodging with strangers. And 
then they all went on board a ship, and 
sailed across the sea; and came at last 
to the place where they now resided. 
They were not in so nice a house as that 
they left in England, nor in one so well 
famished; but they were all together, 
and it was home to them. 

They were not yet capable of under- 
standing the conversation that sometimes 
passed between their parents, or they 
might have heard them speaking when 
in England, of their apprehensions that 
Popery would be restored, and of their 
determination, rather than expose their 

children to its baleful influence, to leave 
their native country and their beloved 
friends, and commit themselves and their 
family to the care of Providence in a 
foreign land. 

And since they had been living in 
Zealand, they might have known that 
their father had in vain been hoping to 
gain employment, by which to support 
his family, and that the money brought 
with them from England had been 
gradualljT expended in procuring the 
necessaries of life ; and that as the little 
store diminished, the parents had become 
more and more anxious; especially, as 
they now owed a year's rent to their 
landlord, and no money remained to 
meet it, nor were any means of support 
likely to be presented. But the children 
were too young to enter into these 
matters. Their parents were with them ; 
on their care they relied, and they were 
happy. They did not know tliat the 
resources of the kindestparents are often 
very limited and insufficient; still less 
did they suspect when at breakfast or at 
dinner (as it had often happened lately), 
their father or mother declined taking 
any more, and said they had rather 
not, that it was from apprehension that 
there would not be enough for their 

Well, on the morning just referred to, 
the family was assembled as usual, and 
the father, with a sad and sorrowful 
countenance, took down the Bible, and 
read some of those sweet and precious 
promises which, from age to age, have 
been the support and consolation of the 
people of God in all their straits and 
difficulties. And then he kneeled down 
and pleaded these promises : '' Re- 
member the word unto thy servants on 
which thou hast caused us to hope. 
Thou art our Father, thou knowest what 
things we have need of; ' Give us this 
day our daily bread.' Thou hast said, 
'Call upon me in the day of trouble,' 
' Lord hear our cry, and let thine ears 
be attentive to the voice of our suppli- 
cations.' Thou hear est the young ravens 
which cry. Oh be not unmindful of the 
wants of these helpless babes. Thou 
knowest that it was not from indolence, 
or ambition, that we quitted our native 
shores to dwell among strangers; but 
that we were driven forth for conscience 
towards God. And now Lord, we know 
not what to do; but our eyes are up 
unto Thee; oh appear for us in this 
season of extremity. But if thou see 



good itiH to exfireifte our faitb, oh 
■troogthoti iiB with ttrongth in our sonli* 
Though thou day us, yet may we tru«t 
in thee* Enable ui at all timet to eay, 
'Thy will be done,' and howeyer it may 
go with our bodiei, let our louh be fed 
with the bread of life ; whiefa) if a man 
eat) he ihali live for ever." 

And when they rose from their kneet, 
the countenances of the parents were no 
more sad. The cause of their distress 
was not removed, but they had cast their 
burden on the Lord, and be sustained 
them. Communion with Ood had shed 
a holy calmness through their souls, 
and in the midst of outward destitu- 
tion they could rejoice in the God of 
their salvation. 

But now*-*the Bible replaced on the 
shelf, the little ones crowded round the 
table^ and asked for their breakfast, 
and the parents were obliged to say 
that they had no food to give them, 
nor money to procure any, and all burst 
into tears. 

But ** man's extremity is God's oppor^- 
tunity ; " at that moment the house bell 
rangi and the mother, in a mean and 
mournful habit, went to the door. A 
person was there who asked to see the 
mistress of the house, Mrs. Anderson. 
" That," said she, " is my name. I am 
the person after whom you inquire." 
He then put a paper into her hand, 
Sayiiig, ** A gentleman baa sent you 
this paper) and will send in some pro^ 
visions shortly." The messenger Uien 
hastened away without telling his name 
or by whom he was sent. On opening 
the paper) it was found to contain forty 
gold coins. Soon afterwards a country- 
man oame with a horse-load of all kinds 
of provisions ; but neither did he tell the 
family nor did they ever know who it 
was that so seasonably supplied their 
necessities. Thus much, however, they 
certainly knew; that He who has all 
hearts in his hand, and all resources at 
hii disposal, is a God that hears and 
atiswers prayer-^a God faithful to his 
promises and a very present help in 
trouble, and doubtless the outpourings 
of gratitude to Him the supreme Giver 
of idl good were mingled with many an ar- 
dent prayer for blessings on the unknown 
benefactor. The bountiful supply re- 
ceived, besides present provision, ena- 
bled the good man to pay his debts, 
and thus relieved him of a burden more 
distressing than even want. From this 
time his tent was paidj and he received 

a quarterly remittance of 10^ ai long 
he lived; but these benefits were con- 
ferred in so secret a manner that he 
never could discover his benefactor. He 
naturally communicated to his friends 
and acquaintances in the city (most of 
whom had quitted their own country 
from the same cause as himself), so 
signal an instance^ of the goodness of 
God to him and his, as an encouragement 
to them to trust and confidence, even if 
brought into difiioulties like his own; 
and there were many others who expe* 
rienced like deliverances. 

After some time, the pastor of the 
English church in Middleburgh dying, 
Mr. Anderson was chosen to succeed 
him. On this occasion, Mrs. Anderson 
was so overcome with joy at the good- 
ness of God in thus reinstating her 
husband in the work of the Christian 
ministry, and in providing for them a 
fixed and honourable maintenance, that 
it was supposed to occasion a fever of 
whieh she died. Mr. Anderson after 
labouring with much acceptance and 
usefulness, died in 1677; before his 
family had attained maturity. But the 
Providence of God wonderfully provided 
for these orphans, as for their parents 
before them. The magistrates of the 
eity became guardians to the children. 
Three Dutch iiidies (one of whom was 
the celebrated Anna Maria Schunman), 
took charge of the three daughters, and 
became as mothers to them. A rich 
merchant, named De Hoste, provided fur 
the education and outfit of the two sons, 
and by his last will bequeathed a good 
portion to each of the daughters. After 
the death of this worthy gentleman, the 
benevolent mystery was cleared up. 

Mr. Quick, who succeeded Mr. 
Anderson in the pastorate at Middle- 
burgh, and who, like, him, had been 
ejected in England by the Bartholomew 
act of 1662* was visiting at the country- 
house of M. de Koning, a magistrate 
of the city, and happened to mention 
the story. M. de Koning informed him 
that he was the person who carried (he 
money fi'om M. de Hoste, to whom he 
was at that time apprentice. He stated 
that M. de Hoste observing a grave 
English minister frequently walk the 
streets with a dejected countenance, 
inquired privately into his cineum« 
stances, and apprehending that he might 
be in want, sent him the ffold and the 
provisions, saying with Christian tender- 
ness, ** God forbid that any of Christ's 



ambaMadora should be stvangerB and 
me not visit them ; or in distress and 
we not assist them." But be expressly 
charged both his servants to eoneeai 
bis name. He too it was who after- 
wards paid the rent and contributed so 
largely to the support of the family. 
M. de Koning sacredly icept the whole 
matter secret as long as his old master 
lived ; but thought himself at liberty to 
give this account of it after his death. 
How true it is that 

'* When the Lord's people hsve need, 
Hia goodness 'wiU find out a way. 

This instance to those may seem strange 
Who know not how faith can prevail ; 

Bat sooner all nature shall change 
Than one of God's promises fail." 



A document of considerable interest 
lies before us. It Is the balance sheet 
for 1849 of the Propaganda Society of 
Rome, the body which has entnisted to 
it the collection and distribution of all 
ftmds for the promotion of Roman Catho- 
lic missions throughout the world. At a 
time when Poper}' is filling the public 
ear with its demonstrations, a document 
of this character, oflficially published in 
London, has increased importance. It 
enables us to test the missionary liberality 
of the Roman Catholic body, and to set a 
proper value upon the arrogant vaunting 
eo often made of its superiority to that 
manifested by the Protestant churches. 

The first thing which strikes u^ in 
examining this balance sheet, is the ad- 
vantage which the Propaganda possesses 
over other religious associations in its 
mode of making up its annual accounts. 
Its money columns show at a glance the 
contributions of Roman Catholics in every 
quarter of the globes from France to the 
Burmese empire. In England, on the 
other hand, tne various missionary socie- 
ties necessarily make up their accounts 
independently of each other, and the 
same course is pursued by the Protestant 
churches in America and on the conti- 
nent of Europe. Notwithstanding, how- 
ever, this important vantage ground, the 
residts of the Propaganda's collections 
leave, we are glad to say, a triumphant 
victory in favour of the supporters of 
evangelical truth. The total amount of 
its receipts in aid of missions for the year 
1849 amounted only to 142,580^. 3^. 

If the above be a fair statement (whtoli, 
from its official ebaracter and other in- 
ternal marks, there seems no reason to 
doubt), one or two important conclusions 
naturally follow; It silences, in an em- 

Ehatic manner, certain insinuations which 
ave obtained a pretty general currency 
as to the languor of Protestant benevo* 
lence in pecuniary matters when com- 

Sared with that of the papa! church. 
Inch reason, it is true, have we all to 
denlore the absence in the midst of us of 
a high gospel standard of self-denying 
liberality ; still, compared with the fruits 
yielded by the Propaganda, we have much 
to be thankful for. The income of the 
Church Miesionarv Society alone, or of 
the Weslevan Missionary Association, 
does not fall far short of the Propaganda's 
balance sheet; and if we proccea to add 
the sums raised by other evi^ngeliciil 
bodies throughout the world, the gross 
amount largely preponderates in our 
favour. Glancing at the hand-book of 
missions for 1847, being the most acces* 
sible document we have at this moment 
to refer to, we are gratified to perceive 
that, in that year, Protestants in England, 
the colonies, the continent, and America, 
raised for missionary purposes* upwards 
of 1,190,000/., actually more than a mil- 
lion beyond what Rome accomplished ! 

The document before us, when minutely 
analyzed, is also not without its v^lue, 
as constituting a species of thermometer 
by which we may estimate the degree of 
warmth felt in particular countries as to 
the extension of the papal sway. It eoes, 
we consider, to prove that Popery, now- 
ever noisy in its demonstrations here, has 
in many of its ancient strongholds lapsed 
into a mere system of state machinery* 
If so, may we be animated to a coura- 
geous contest with it ! England, we trust, 
under God, will not pick up the decayed 
vestments half cast off by its continental 

Of the sum of 142,000/. already no- 
ticed, France contributes nearly one-half. 
Its aggregate collections are 72,000/. It 
is curious to remark that Lyons, the seat 
of a turbulent democratic population, 
raises the highest amount of French con- 
tributions. Its receipts are 7000/., while 
Paris, the capital, collects only 8000/. 
These figures are important. They show 
that the French metropolis has compa- 
ratively little interest in extending the 
national religion, and that the priesthood 

* UQder this term are included Bible and TiAct 
Societies, Sunday-School Unions, etc. 



have succeeded to a considerajble degree 
in enlisting the sympathies of its com- 
mercial rival. 

From Spain, where Romanism reigns 
in such unmitigated rigour, we might 
naturally have looked for enlarged pecu- 
niary effort in favour of its church. All, 
however, that it yields to missions, in- 
cluding even the contributions of Cuba, 
is 769?. Ms, 9d, This is, we confess, a 

faltry quota from a country where the 
nquisition took its birth. 
The second largest contribution on the 
list is from Sardinia ; it amounts to 
7^684/. 5s, 5d. ; this is closely approached 
by Belgium, the land of ])rie8t8 and con- 
vents, which yields 7,183/. Ids, Id. We 
look with some interest to our own coun- 
try, and find that its quota to the diffusion 
of error amounts to 4,267/. 7«. 9d,j in- 
cluding the proceeds of the British colo- 
nies. Of this sum England contributes 
1,234/. Ireland, with all its poverty, 
manages to send 2,600/. Scotland, to 
her credit, remits only 237/. The city on 
the seven hills, the grand fountain-head 
of papal error, sends about 1,200/. The 
Burmese empire, with its teeming mil- 
lions, gathers only 16/. Australia, too, 
remits somewhere about 10/. 

The distribution of these sums forms 
another interesting region of inquiry. 
Scotland has 3,200/. to assist in rooting 
up the work which John Knox so effec- 
tually planted. Our sister country is too 
well rooted in the knowledge of the word 
of God, we trust, not to give the men 
whom this collection employs a vigorous 
reception. England and Wales have 
only 1,280/. allocated to them by the 
Propaganda; — private benefactions, of 
course, do the rest. It is an ominous 
sign, well worth noting, that Wales and 
Cornwall seem the chief points of opera- 
tion selected. 360/. is given to a oody 
of priests in the latter county, bearing the 
somewhat singular title of the '* Mission 
of the Oblates of the Immaculate Con- 
ception." This cannot, however, we 
repeat, form one-hundredth part of the 
sums raised in England among the 
wealthy partisans of Roman Catholicism. 
The sumptuous cathedrals which pollute 
our soil attest the existence of large pri- 
vate resources. Curious means are occa- 
sionally resorted to in order to swell the 
funds. The other day we observed tickets 
for a raffle issued by a priest in one of 
our universily towns, in aid of his mis- 
sionary operations. The document cha- 
racteristically expressed a hope that it 

would find in eveiy Roman Cath<die sta^ 
tion ** some good soul '' to assist the 

Sriestin disposing of the tickets! The 
Loman Catholic cause evidehtly is at a 
low ebb in Germany ; for we find only 
1,103/. received in contributions from it, 
and 6,120/. employed to fasten once more 
around it those fetters which Luther 
broke. The United States of America 
have a large sum allotted to them; it 
amounts to no less than 21,240/., and is 
distributed over every part of the country 
from New York to the Rocky Mountains, 
— among monks of Latrappe, lazarists, 
oblates of the immaculate Mary, the con- 
gregation of the holy cross, Dominicans, 
and the fellows of the Society of Jesus. 
Africa has 11,000/. expended upon it; 
India, China, and Asia generally, the 
large sum of 42,000/. ; Oceania, which 
includes Australia, New Zealand, and 
Tahiti, 16,710/. 

Popery appears to haunt the shadow 
of Protestant missions, and to follow with 
persevering alaprity wherever the bumble 
evangelist makes known the tidings of 
salvation in all their unadulterated purity. 
This zeal in compassing sea and land to 
make a single proselyte, is shown by the 
document before us; for the names of 
missionaries are found attached to dis- 
tricts rarely visited by Europeans. Into 
almost every part of the world, indeed, 
emissaries have been sent. It is well 
known that the Roman Catholic church 
attaches a superstitious importance to the 
baptism of heathen children — considering . 
all who receive that ordinance from its 
priests as regenerated and made true 
members of Christ. The documents be- 
fore us, accordingly, contain more than 
one special donation ** for the baptism of 
the children of infidels." 

As to the alleged spiritual results of 
these collections and missions, the report 
does not afford us very ample informa- 
tion. We have, however, the statement 
of a missionary in China, which gives us 
some insight as to the nature of the work 
which goes forward under the name of 
conversion. " In proportion," he writes, * 
''as we see our numbers increased, we 
likewise witness the revival of the faith 
of our Christians. Their ignorance dimi- 
nishes from day to day ; their piety derives 
fresh support from the participation of 
the sacraments, from their love of the 
salutary exercise of the way of the cross, 
and their devotion to the sacred heart of 
Jesus and Mary. ..... Five or six 

thousand Christians, most of them ad-^ 



vanced in y«8i% haye again found in a 
good confession the door of the sheepfold 
which thej had ceated to know ; five 
thoDsand pagan adults regenerated in the 
waters of baptism, and aggregated to the 
flock of Jesos ; fifteen to twenty thoasand 
children of mfidels, the most of whom, 
since their haptism, have gone to swell 
the train of the spotless Lamb. Behold 
here, gentlemen, the results we have been 
enabled to realize here already by the 
agency of your assistance." 

The reader will be able to appreciate, 
without any explanation or comment, the 
error of a teaching of which the above is 
a specimen. As a counterpart to this 
extract, and as explanatory of that air of 
apparent devotion which runs through 
many pi^l documents, we conclude our 
article with an appropriate anecdote^ 
which shows the necessity of receiving 
the statements of Romish missionaries 
with a considerable discount. May God, 
of his rich mercy, preserve us from simi- 
lar delusions. 

" I mentioned," says Mr. Seymour in 
his '* Mornings with the Jesuits," **the 
narrative of a friend of my own, who was 
witness to the conversion of a whole tribe 
of American Indians. He told me that 
the tribe marched down to a river, and 
that the Roman Catholic priest, without a 
word of instruction, sprinkled water on 
every one in the usual form, and that he 
then hung a little cross by a string round 
the neck of each, and telling them they 
were now Christians, he left them. My 
friend told me that they made no profes- 
sion of faith, and departed precisely as 
they came*— as naked, as savage, as wild, 
as Ignorant, and as heathen." Hie Jesuit, 
instead of being ashamed of the account, 
to Mr. Seymour's astonishment, defended 
these conversions as real, and in confir- 
mation of that view of the subject, men- 
tioned that the missionary had returned 
to the same Indians after two years' 
absence, and had been delighted to find, 
on summoning them to confession, " that 
they had no sins to confess ! " 1 1 is almost 
needlasB to add, that this want of confes- 
sion of sin arose entirely from a want of 
perception of its existence. The conver- 
sion of the tribe of Indians had been a 
mere name ; savages they had received 
the rite of baptism ; savages they had 
departed from it ; and savages they had 
remained. They were ignorant alike of 
the plague of thehr own hearts, of the 
necessity of a living faith in the sacrifice 
of Christ for pardon of guilt, and of the 

sanctifying operations of the Holy Spirit 
for deliverance from its power and cor- 
ruption. W. 



It was midnight when the condemned 
Girondists were led from the bar of the 
palace of justice to the dungeons of the 
Conciergerie, there to wait till the swift- 
winged hours should bring the dawn 
which was to guide their steps to the 
guillotine. The arms of the guard clat- 
tered along the stone floor of the gloomy 
corridors of the prison, awakening the 
unhappy victims of the revolution, who, 
torn from homes of opulence and refine- 
ment, were plunged into the grated cells, 
from whence they also, in their turn, were 
to be dragged to the scaffold. The ac- 
quittal of the Girondists would afford 
them some little hope that they also 
might find mercy. They peered through 
the grating of the cells upon the group 
moving along, by the dim light of a 
feeble lamp, and learned their doom. 
Lamentations and wailings filled the 
prison. The condemned, now that their 
fate was sealed, had nerved their souls to 
heroism, and mutually cheering one an- 
other, prepared as martyrs to encounter 
the last stem trial. They were all placed 
in one large cell, and the dead body of a 
companion, with which they were to be 
buried on the morrow, was placed at their 

A wealthy friend, who had escaped 
proscription, and was concealed in Paris, 
had agreed to send them a sumptuous 
banquet, the night after their trial, which 
was to be to them a funeral repast or a 
triumphant feast, according to the ver- 
dict of acquittal or condemnation. Their 
friend kept his word. Soon after the 
prisoners were remanded to their cell, a 
table was spread, and preparations were 
made for their last supper. There was 
a large oaken table in the prison, where 
those awaiting their trial and those await- 
ing their execution met for their coarse 
prison fare. A rich cloth was spread upon 
this table. Servants entered, bearing 
brilliant lamps, which illuminated the 
dismal vault with an unnatural lustre, 
and spread the glare of noonday light 
upon the miserable pallets of straw, the 
rusty iron gratings and chains, and the 
stone walls weeping with moistwe, which 
no ray of the sun or warmth of fire ever 
dried away. It was a strange scene — 



that brilliant festival in tlie midst of the 
gloom of the most dismal dungeon, with 
one dead hody lying upon the floor, and 
those for Iwhom the feast was prepared 
waiting only for the early dawn to light 
them to their death and burial. The 
richest viands of meats and wines were 
brought in and placed before the con- 
demned. Vases of flowers difiUsed their 
fragrance and expanded their beauty, 
where flowers were never seen to bloom 
before. Wan and haggard faces, un- 
washed and unshorn, gazed upon the 
unwonted spectacle, as dazzling flam- 
beaux and rich table furniture, and bou- 
quets and costly dishes appeared one after 
another, until the board was covered with 
luxury and splendour. 

In silence, the condemned took their 
places at the table. They were men of 
brilliant intellects, of enthusiastic elo- 
quence, thrown suddenly from the heights 
of power to the foot of the scaflbld. A 
priest, the abb6 Lambert, the intimate 
personal friend of several of the most 
eminent of the Girondists, had obtained 
admittance into the prison, to accompany 
his friends to the guillotine, and to admi- 
nister to them the last consolations of 
religion. He stood in the corridor, look- 
ing through the open door upon those 
assembled around the table, and with his 
pencil in his hand noted down their 
words, their gestures, their sighs, their 
weakness, and their strength. It is to 
htm that we are indebted for all know- 
ledge of the scenes enacted at the last 
supper of the Girondists. 

The repast was prolonged until the 
dawn of morning began to steal faintly 
in at the grated windows of the prison, 
and the gathering tumult without an- 
nounced the preparations to conduct 
them to their execution. 

Vergniaud, the most prominent and 
the most eloquent of their number, pre- 
sided at the feast. He had little, save 
the love of glory, to bind him to life, for 
he had neither father nor mother, wife 
nor children. No one could imagine, 
from the calm conversation and the quiet 
appetite with which these distinguished 
men partook of the entertainment, that 
this was their last repast, and but the 
prelude to a violent death. But when 
the cloth was removed, and the fruits, 
the wines, and the flowers alone re« 
mained,^nversation became animated, 
gay, and OT times rose to hilarity. Several 
of the youngest men of the party, in sal- 
lies of wit and outbursts of laughter, 

endeavoured to repel the gloom whieh 
darkened their spirits in view of death on 
the morrow. It was unnatural gaiety, 
unreal, unworthy of the men. A spifit 
truly noble can eneounter death with 
fortitude, but never with levity. Still, 
now and then shouts of laughter and 
songs of merriment buret ffom the lips of 
these young men, ai they endeavoured 
with a kind of hysterical energy to nerve 
themselves to show to their enemies their 
contempt both of life and of death. 
Others were more thoughtful, serene, and 
truly brave. ** What shall we be doing 
to-morrow at this time?" said Ducloe. All 
paused. Religion had its hopes, philo- 
sophy its dreams, infldelity its dreary 
blank. Each answered according to his 
faith. *' We shall sleep after the Attigues 
of the day,^* said some. Atheism had 
darkened their minds. " Death is an 
eternal sleep,'* had become their gloomy 
creed. They looked forward to the slide 
of the guillotine as ending all thought, 
and consigning them back into that non- 
existence froni which they had emerged 
at their creation. ** No ! ** replied Fau- 
chet, Carra, and others ; ^' annihilation is 
not our destiny ; we are immortal. These 
bodies may perish ; these living thoughts, 
these boundless aspirations can never 
die. To-morrow, far away in other 
worlds, we shall think and feel and act, 
and solve the problems of the immaterial 
destiny of the human mind." Immor- 
tality was the theme. The song was 
hushed upon these dying lips ; the forced 
laughter fainted away. Standing upon 
the brink of that dread abyss from 
whence no one has returned with tidings, 
every soul felt a longing for immortality. 
They turned to Vergniaud, whose bril- 
liant intellect, whose soul-moving elo- 
quence, whose useful \\f& commanded 
their reverence, and appealed to him fbr 
light and truth and consolation. His 
words are lost ; the effbct of his discourse 
alone is described. •* Never," said the 
abb6, <'had his look, his gesture, his 
language, and his voice more profbundly 
afl^cted his hearers." In the conclusion 
of a discourse which is described as one 
of almost superhuman eloquence, during 
which some were aroused to the most 
exalted enthusiasm, all were deeply 
moyed, and many wept, Vergniaud ex- 
claimed, ** Death is but the greatest act 
of life, since It gives birth to a higher 
state of existence." 

And now the light of day began to 
stream in at the wmdows. ** Let us go 



to bed/' saifl oiMf " uid ileep laital we 
are called to go forth to our last sleefK 
Life ie a tbing bo triflings that it is not 
worth the hour of sleep we lose iii re- 
grettiog it/' ''Let us rather watch," 
said another, " during the few moments 
wbkh remain to us. Eternity is so 
eertaia and so tetriblo) that a thousand 
Uvea would searee suffioe to prepare for 
it/' They rose from the table, and most 
of them threw themselves upon their 
beds^ for a few moments of bodily repose 
and meditation. Thirteen, however, re- 
mained in the larger dungeon, finding a 
certato kind of support in society. In a 
low tone of voice they eonversed with 
eaeh other. They were worn out with 
excitement, fatigue, and want of sleep* 
Some wept. Sleep kindly came to some^ 
and lulled their apirits into momentary 

At ten o'clook, the ocecutioners came 
to lead the eondemned to the seafibld. 
Their long hair was cut from their necks, 
that the action of the axe might not be 
Impeded. Each one left some affecting 
Mouvenir to friends. One, picking up a 
look df his own black hair) gave it to the 
abb6 Lambert to gilre to his wife* *' Tell 
her/' he said, ** it is all I can send her of 
my remains, and that my last thoughts 
in death were hera»" Vergniaud drew 
from his pocket his watch, and with his 
knife scratched upon the case a few lines 
of tender remembraocei and sent the 
token to a young lady to whom he was 
devotedly attaehedf and to whom he was 
ere long to have been married. Each 
gave to the abb6 Lambert some legacy of 
lovOi to be transmitted to those who were 
left behind. Few emotions are stroiiger 
in the hour of death thim the desire to be 
embalmed in the affeotions of those who 
are dear to us. 

All being r^ady^ the executioners and 
ffens d*4Brtnet marched the eondemned in 
a oolttmn into the prison y«rd, where five 
rude carts wfere awaiting them, to convejr 
them to the scaffold. The countless thou<- 
■tnda of Paris were swarming arolmd the 
prison^ filling the couHf and rolling like 
ocean tides into every adjaeent avenue. 
There were five earts; eaeh contained 
fdnr, with the exception of the last, into 
which the dead body of Valafee had been 
thrown. And now came to the Girondists 
their closing hour. The brilliant sim and 
the elastic air of an October morliing 
invigorated their bodies, and the icene 
thvoogh which they were moving stimu- 
lated their spiHtat As the carts moved 

firom the court-yard^ with one Aimtdta- 
neouB v<Hoe, clear and sonorous, the 
Girondists burst into the MarteiUaise, 
The crowd gazed insileneeas this funereal 
chant, not like the wailings of a dirge, 
but like the strains of an exultant song, 
swelled atid died away upon the air. 
Here and there some friendly voice 
among the populace ventured to swell 
the volume of sound. 

They arrived at the guillotine. One 
ascended the scaffold, continuing the song 
with his companions. He was bound to 
the |dank. Still his voice was heard, full 
and strong. The plank slowly fell : BtUl 
he joined his companions in their song. 
The glittering axe glided like lightning 
down the groove. His head fell mto the 
basket, and one voice was hushed for 
ever. Another ascended, and another, 
and another. Each succeeding moment 
the song grew more faint, as head after 
head felli and the bleeding bodies were 
piled side by side. At last Vergniaud 
alone was left, the most illustrious of 
them all. Pale, but firm and dauntless, 
he continued the solo into which the 
chorus had now died away. With a firm 
tread he mounted the scaffold.. A beetle 
flush crimsoned his cheek, as, looking 
down upon the headless bodies of his 
friends, and around upon the silent 
crowd, he, in a voice of the richest 
melody^ commenced anew the strain. In 
the midst of the exultant tones the axe 
glided on its bloody mission, and the lips 
of Vergniaud were silent in death. Thus 
perished the Girondists, the purest party 
to which the revolution gave oirth. Their 
bodies were rudely thrown into one com- 
mon cart, and thrown into one grave. 

We extract the above poweiful sketch 
from the ''New York Evangelist." Over 
the dying hours of the Girondist leaders 
we may only remark, there arises scarce 
one gleam of Christian hope. They died 
the victims of a false enthusiasm, and 
rushed upon their closing hour with a 
bravery all the more terrible, that it was 
destitute of any solid basis for its support. 
May one of their last words, however, 
ring in the thoughtless reader's ear^-— 
"Etetnity is so certain and so terrible that 
a thousand lives i^ould searee suffice to 
prepare for it." 


** Mt spirit," said a missionfi^, oti a 
late occasion, ** well might faint when I 
think of that vast country, China. A 



third of the human family is congregated 
there, each one of which possessei an 
immortal mind, — a mind capable of 
knowing, loving, and lerving God, — 
capable of bearing his moral image and 
reflecting his moral likeness. Wiiat 
noble materials! And yet they lie all 
waste ; — materials on every fragment of 
which may be seen traces of a Divine 
hand, but marred, obliterated, and almost 
effaced. What a spectacle for an angel 
mind to gaze upon I More than three 
hundred millions of human beings, among 
whom is scarcely one that does homage 
to the God that made it! What a harvest 
of immortal souls, but all ungathered for 
lack of labourers !— ^a harvest wasted and 
trodden down by the polluted hoof of 
superstition and crime. What a sea of 
immortal mind! In looking across it, 
and observine it rolling, weltering, surg- 
ing in the billows of its own corrupt 
inclinations, one almost feels as we may 
suppose Noah felt when he first lifted up 
the window of the ark, and saw sea every- 
where and everywhere sea ,* and we can 
suppose him saying to himself, ' Is it 
possible that the earth can ever again be 
the residence of man ? ' What is im- 
possible with man is possible with God. 
Again he opened the window of the ark, 
aud the mountain tops had begun to 
appear, and to lift their bare bosoms to 
the skies. Presently the slopes of the hills 
are covered with verdure, the world's 
winter is passed, the rain is over and 
gone, the turtle dove is heard in the 
valley, ' and the time of the singing of 
birds is come. Is anything too hard for 
the Lord? Cannot He who reneweth 
the face of the earth, cause even China 
to emerge from her moral deluge, and, as 
she rises, present an aspect beautiful as 
the garden of the Lord? Then shall 
there be for the watery waste a fertile 
soil ; for the works of the flesh, the fruits 
of the Spirit— genuine fiiith and inward 
purity — the animation of hope and the 
ardour of love-— an enlightened under- 
standing and a peacefiu conscience— 
devotedness to God as a Sovereign, and 
intimacy with him as a Father — the 
abasement of lofty principles, and the 
mortification of carnal appetites— ^eath 
unto sin and life unto holiness." 


At Cambridge, as well as at other col- 
leges, the sizar students were, in conside- 
ration of certain pecuniary privQ^^es, 

expected to perform various offices of a 
menial character, such as ringing the 
chapel bell, serving up the first dish to 
the college fellows in the dining- 
hali, etc. These services have now 
for some years been dispensed with at 
all the colleges. In the youth of Isaac 
Miloer, however, (afterwards dean of 
Queen's College, Cambridge,) he had, aa 
a poor scholar, toiling on to eminence by 
painful self-denial, to perform the office 
of a sizar. It is recorded of him, that in 
waiting at dinner upon the heads of the col- 
lege, the young student let fall a tureen 
full of soup, to the no small disappoint- 
ment, doubtless, of the appetised guests. 
A smart rebuke was administered to him 
for his carelessness. " When I am in 
power, I will abolish this nuisance^ gen- 
tlemen," was his reply. A hearty laugh 
was the result, so unlikely did it seem 
that the raw, uncouth, blundering York- 
shire lad should ever rise to 1^ vice- 
chancellor of his imiversity. Yet in a few 
years he did attain that eminence, as well 
as the honour of meomparabiUs attached 
to his degree. He had the satisfaction of 
fulfilling his boyish declaration, and re- 
lieved the sizar students from the un- 
called-for burden which he in his own 
youth had borne. 


You have sustained losses. It waa 
best that you should ; in the end you will 
see it ; even now you may derive great 
gain from every loss, if you will be led 
by them to find consolation in God. One 
smile from him compensates for every 
worldly loss. You are poor. Not poorer 
than One who, though he wag rich, for 
vour sake became poor, that you, through 
his poverty, mi^ht be rich ; He had not 
where to lay his head. Your dwelling 
maybe comfortless; your children poorly 
dad; you may be unable to educate 
them, or even procure for them all the 
necessaries of life. It is a trial ; but be 
cheerful in it. The Lord can raise up 
friends for you and your little ones ; he 
can give the^ what is unspeakably more 
precious than silver and gold ; they can- 
not long be in want. He who hath 
numbered the hairs of your head know- 
eth that you have need; his resources 
are infinite ; trust in him, speak to him 
of all you need. He can make your cup 
overflow with blessings ; or if he with- 
holds some, he can give others, more 
precious, in their itead.^-£vttngeUsL 


LiijilBii Sculplur* Bt ths BiiiUli Uuuud 


In the prefixed plaU our reeden have 
an engTaving of one of ihe reniBrkable 
sculptaret which the eolerpTue of Mr. 
Lajazd has disinterred from the plaini of 
Nineveh, After a long voyage, it hat 
been placed in the Britiah Museum, in an 
entire aUte. Greece, Egypt, and Aisyria 
have thn* lueceitively been ransacked to 
enrich diat national depoeilory with the 
tpoili of antiquity. As we oonlemplete 
thia interesting relic, end estimate the 
labour which bu been incurred in re- 
moving it from its ancient habitation, 
and the long and circuitous voyage which 
it hai bad to uudeitske, we receive a 
pawerfnl impretuon of the enterprise of 
our coonnTmea. It i* not to be won- 
dered at, however, that the natives on 
the snot, who could make no allowance 
for the enthnsiasm which icientifio re- 
aearch intmrei, were coofounded at Mr. 
Lkvaid's drangs. We can well imagine 
with what unreigned sincerity the suh- 
ioined inquiries were addrewed to him. 
The tpeaker, we may observe, waa the 
Arab sheikh of the place. 

" Wonderful I wonderful ! Tell me, 
O bey, what you are going to do with 
tbeae ttonai. So many thouMinds of 
purtm q>ent upon such things I Can it 
be ae yon say, that your people learn 

FEBavAKv, 1851. 

wisdom from them ; or it it, at his reve- 
rence the cadi deelaTet, that they are to 
go to the palace of your queen, who, with 
the rest of the unbelievers, worthip these 
idols? As for witdom, these figiirei will 
not teach you to make any better knivea. 

IT ebtnt 

3 the 

making of these things that the English 
show their wisdom. Hera are stones 
which have been buried ever since the 
times of Noah — peace be with him I 
Perhaps they were under-ground before 
the deluge. - I have lived on these lands 
for years. My father and the father of 
my father pitched their tents here before 
me ; but they never beard of these 
figures. For twelve hundred years have 
the true believers (and all true wisdom i* 
with them alone) been settled in this 
country, and none of them ever heard of 
■ palace under ground. Neither did they 
who went before tbem. But, loJ here 
comes a Frank, from many days' journey 
off, and be walks up to the very place, 
and he takes a stick (illustra ' 

t the I 

1 the 

point of bit spear), and makes a line here 
and a line there. 'Here,' says he, 'i* 
the palace ; there,' sajt he, ' is the gate;' 
and he shows us what bas been all our 
lives beneath our feet, without our having 
known anything about it. Wonderful 1 
wonderful! It it by books, is it by 



magic, is it by your prophets, that you 
have learned these things ? Speak, O bey ; 
tell me the secret of wisdom ?'* 

Of the sculptures recently received 
from Nineveh, the most remarkable are 
the human-headed and eagle-winged bull 
and lion. Our engraving represents the 
latter, which is of colossal dimensions, 
being nine feet long and the same in 
height. Thirteen pairs of these gigantic 
sculptures were discovered by Mr. Layard, 
and several fragments of others ; but th^y 
were too much injured to be worth mov- 
ing. Two lionsjof even larger dimensions, 
had come under his notice ; but these he 
was, from their magnitude, reluctantly 
compelled to leave behind him. 

Of the figure more immediately under 
our notice, it has been observed, that the 
countenance is noble and benevolent in 
expression ; the features being of a true 
Persian type. It wears an egg-shaped 
cap, with a cord round the base of it. 
The hair at the back of the head has 
seven ranges of curls; the beard being 
divided into three ranges of curls, with 
intervals of wavy hair. The elaborately- 
sculptured wings extend over the back of 
the animal to the very verge of the slab. 
All the flat surface is covered with what 
is termed a cuneiform inscription. Round 
the loins is a succession of numerous 
cords, which are drawn into four separate 
knots ; at the extremities are fringes 
forming as many distinct tassels. At the 
end of the tail a claw is visible. The 
strength of the lion, we may add, is 
admirably "delineated in the sculpture, 
showing that the artist had a complete 
acquaintance with the details of its figure 
and anatomy. The precise object which 
the above sculpture was designed to 
represent has not yet been definitely 
determined by antiquaries. It is gene- 
rally considered, however, to personify 
one of the Assyrian deities ; the attributes 
of intelligence, strength, and swiftness 
being typified by the animals employed. 
Even now, while the spectator gazes upon 
the figure, a sensation of vastness fills 
the mind. To receive the full impres- 
sion, however, which it was calculated 
to produce, we must transport our- 
sdves to Nineveh, and glance at the 
numerous objects of a similar character, 
which line the entrance to its palaces or 
temples. " It was with no little excite- 
ment," says Mr. Longworth, 'Hhat I 
suddenly found myself in the magnificent 
abode of the Assyrian kings; the walls 
themselves were crowded with phantoms 

of the past; some of the portly forms 
were so Itfe-like that they might almost 
be imagined stepping from the walls to 
question the rash intruders on their pri- 
vacy. The colossal forms of winged lions 
and bulls with gigantic human faces, the 
idols of a religion long since dead and 
buried, seemed actually in the twilight 
to be raising their desecrated heads from 
the sleep of centuries." 

Some of the most amusing scenes in 
Mr. Layard's excavations at Nineveh 
wer-e connected with the discovery and 
transportation of figures Kke those pictured 
in our engraving. As the lively Arab 
workmen plied their preliminary labours, 
their nimble pickaxes unearthed a pale, 
majestic, colossal face, which seemed to 
their imaginations the genius of the spot, 
demanding of the rash intruders why 
they presumptuously interrupted his long 
slumber of -centuries. All was immedi- 
ately excitement One man, throwing 
down his basket, scampered -off to Mosul 
as fast as his legs would carry him. 
Down poured the population of that 
town, eyes and mouths at full stretch, and 
tongues wagging with wonder. " Hasten, 
O bey !" ^ied one who had scampered 
on horseback to communicate the intel- 
ligence to Mr. Layard ; ^ hasten to the 
diggers, for they have found Nimrod 
himself. Wallah, it is w«nder&il, but 
true; we have seen him with our own 
eyes." The spectator, as he examines 
the sculpture in the British Museum, may 
also share, in some degree, the emotions 
which filled Mr. Layard's own breast, aa 
he gazed for hours on these the first-fruits 
of his labours. ^For twenty-five hun- 
dred years," he says, ^< they had been 
hidden from the eye of man, and they 
now stood forth once more in their ancient 
majesty. But, oh, how changed was the 
scene around them! The luxury and 
civilization of a mighty nation had given 
place to the wretchedness and ignorance 
of a few hal^barbarous tribes. The 
wealth of temples and the riches of great 
cities had been succeeded by ruins and 
shapeless heaps of earth. Nineveh, to 
use the pi»)phetic language of Zephaniah, 
'is become a desolation.' ''' 

The readers of Mr. Layard's interesting 
volumes will derive additional pleasure in 
contemplating the figures of the bull and 
lien in the Museum, from recollecting the 
amusing and exciting scene which had 
attended their removal from the plains of 
Mesopotamia. As the mass descended 
from its elevation, the drums and shrill 



pipes of tbe Kurdish musicians filled the 
air with their discordant sounds. Women 
screamed ; men shouted ; neither Mr. 
Layard's entreaties, nor the more pow- 
erful appeal of a strong hippopotamus 
whip could procure silence. Down, in 
the midst of all the excitement, came the 
sculpture, with a rush. On finding it 
unbroken, the whole Arabic party darted 
out of the trench, and seizing by the 
hands the women who were looking on, 
commenced a war-dance, yelling with 
redoubled excitement. 

Strange mystic sculpture I If you 
could but speak, what would your accents 
be? Worshipped nearly three thousand 
years ago, entombed for a similar period, 
you wake as it were from your sleep, and 
find all around you changed — Nineveh is 
a desolation, and you yourself the inmate 
of a city which, when you were in the 
height of your glory, had not even begun 
to exist. Each spectator in turn will 
▼lew you with different emotions.. The 
sculptor will see how statuaries modelled 
in ancient Assyria. The antiquary will 
puzzle his brain to decipher your mys- 
terious inscriptions and symbols. The 
thoughtless rustic will gaze with stupid 
wonder at your colossal bulk. The 
attentive student of the word of God will 
see another proof of the sure language of 
prophecy. The pious Christian, too, as 
lie contemplates the idols of a departed 
generation thus overthrown, will be lifted 
up in spirit, more gratefully to adore, 
love, and obey Him who, in uncreated 
majesty, liveth for ever and ever ; and 
who flJone is entitled to the supreme 
place in the hearts and affections of his 
creatures. M. H. W. 


I HAVE a family to provide for, and my 
mind is much engaged with procuring for 
them that which is needful for time. Let 
me, then, be on the watch, that while I 
am trafficking with the dust of earthly 
business, my soul be not cleaving to it ; 
while securing a needful supply for time, 
let me not neglect to insure riches for 

I have heard it said, that " people in 
business have no time for religion.'* How 
false is such an assertion ! I turn to my 
Bible, and see Joseph loaded with respon- 
sibility; but yet I find it recorded of 
him, that *' the Lord was with Joseph, 
and he was a prosperous man.'' It is 

a sad mistake to see Christians content 
with allowing Christianity to influence 
them upon spiritual matters^ while the 
secular duties of their calling are disre- 
garded and neglected. If I am a Chris- 
tian, I ought to be the best possible man 
of business, being supported by Him in 
whom Joseph trusted. 

I must take a lesson from the great 
Creator of the universe ; I must " con- 
sider the works of the Lord, and regard 
the operations of his hands." On every 
side I see method and regularity. There 
is no confusion in the course assigned to 
them. Whether I think of the sun and 
moon and stars, as they travel on in their 
appointed spheres; or of the great and 
wide sea, whose tides ebb and flow at 
their Maker's bidding; or of the won- 
derful mechanism of animated nature, — 
all seem to speak of ** wisdom, activity, 
and order." 

I would keep in mind three essentials, 
which ought to pervade all my secular 
concerns : 

1. HoNBSTT. — Am I in a post of trust? 
Let me not betray the confidence reposed 
in me; let me shrink from anything 
approaching to deceit ; and let every 
farthing that I procure for myself be 
obtained in a straightforward, open way. 
Thus shall I be fulfilling the command of 
providing '' things honest in the sight of 
all men." 

2. Diligence. — I must strive against 
sloth and inactivity. It is " the hand of 
the diligent" that "maketh rich," and I 
am reminded to be " not slothful in busi- 

3. Peudencb. — " The prudent man 
looketh well to his going." I would avoid 
rashness and carelessness in my business, 
and covet the discretion and understand-* 
ing so plainly enforced by Solomon ; and, 
in all that I undertake, may I remem- 
ber, my Master is in heaven, and what- 
soever my hand findeth to do, may I do- 
it with all my might, " serving the 
Lord," Rom. xii. 11. "If any provide 
not for his own, he is worse than an 
infidel," 1 Tim. v. 8. — American Paper. 


The author of "The Pleasures of 
Memory " (Mr. Rogers) informs us, that 
when a boy, having an ardent desire to 
behold and converse with a man whose 




name was lo Ulattrioui in English litera- 
tura, he determined on introducing; him- 
self to the great lexicographer, in the 
hope that his youth and inexperience 
might plead his excuse. Accordingly he 
proceeaed to Bolt-court, and after much 
hesitation, had actually his hand on the 
knocker, when his heart failed him, and 
he vent away. 

The late Mr. D' Israeli used to relate in 
conversation a somewhat similar anec- 
dote. Anxious to ohtain the acquaint- 
ance and the countenance of so illustrious 
a name, and smitten with the literary 
enthusiasm of youth, he enclosed some 
verses of his own composition to Dr. 
Johnson^ and, in a modest appeal, soli- 
cited the opinion of the great critic as to 
their merits. Having waited for some 
time, without receiving any acknowledg- 
ment of his communication, he proceeded 
to Bolt-court, and laid his hand upon the 
knocker, with the same feelines of shy- 
ness and hesitation which had influenced 
his youthful contemporary, Mr. Rogers. 
His feelings may he readily imagined, 
when, on making the necessary inquiries 
of the servant wno opened the door, he 
found that only a few hours hefore, the 
great lexicographer had breathed his last. 

Near the close of Dr. Johnson's life, 
alsa, two young ladies, who were warm 
admirers of his works, but had never 
•een himself, went to Bolt-court, and, 
asking if he were at home, were shown 
up stairs, where he was writing. He laid 
down his pen on their entrance ; and as 
they stood before him, one of the females 
repeated a speech, of some length, pre- 
viously prepared for the occasion. It 
was an entnusiastic effusion, and when 
the speaker had finished, she panted for 
her idors reply. What was her mortifi- 
cation, when all he said was, *' Fiddle- 
dedee, my dear I " 

The house in Bolt-court, in which 
Johnson breathed his last, unfortunately 
DO longer exists. — • " London and its 


Valentine Duval, who died at Vienna, 
A.D. 1772, the librarian of the emperor 
Francis t., one of the most learned men 
of his age, is one of those examples of 
the triumph of perseverance over diffi- 
culties, wnose biography possesses an 
almost romantic interest. He was bom 
in a small village of France ; the son of 

a poor labourer, whose death left his wife 
and young children without any means 
of support. 

At the same time both war and famine 
desolated France, and the widow was 
glad to get her eldest boy, Valentine, at 
the age of ten years, hired to a neigh- 
bour, to take care of his turkeys. Wiiat 
made Valentine Duval lose his first situ- 
ation, is not, perhaps, very well known ; 
but as some reason is generally assigned 
for the juvenile actions of those persona 
whose after-lives have become famous, it 
has been said that the boy*s natural love 
of inquiring into cause and effect led to 
his^smissal from his humble employ. 

He had heard, they say, that toe sight 
of scarlet colour produced a singular 
agitation in the fowl he guarded ; and, to 
verify the generally-received opinion, he 
fastened a scarlet cloth around the neck 
of the turkey-cock ; and the result of this 
first philosophical research led to his 
being dismissed from his charge, by the 
uproar it excited. 

The severe winter of 1709 had then set 
in; misery prevailed through the coun- 
try. Valentine vainlv offered his ser- 
vices in his native place; he could no 
longer be maintained at home, and so, as 
he nimself afterwards recorded, recom- 
mending himself to the providence of 
God, he set forth, like many another 
young voyager over the waves of this 
troublesome world, to seek for the means 
of living elsewhere. After much travel, 
suffering, and disappointment, he was 
seized with illness, and approached the 
door of a sniall farm-house, feeling unable 
to walk further. He knocked, and im- 
plored the people to put him somewhere 
to lie down out of the cold. The poor 
wanderer was at once led to the stable, 
where he threw himself down on some 
straw, among sheep. The next morning 
the farmer came to see him, and found 
he was covered with small-pox. Thoughr 
this man was poor himself, he was not 
devoid of compassion : instead of flying 
from infection, or turning the sufferer 
away, he made him a bed of hay between 
two dung-heaps, stripped off his clothes, 
covered him with the hay, and then 
recommended him to the mercy of God, 
believing the poor unfortunate must die. 

Valentine Duval, however, did not die, 
and ascribed his recovery chiefly to the 
breath of the sheep around him. On 
regaining health, he set out on his travels 
once more, and succeeded at last in 
obtaining employment as a diepherd's 



boy, on the plains of Lorraine. Adjoin- 
ing his new place of employment were 
acme hermits, who taught him to read. 
His curious mode of life he thus de- 

'* I commenced a new career ; I 
learned to write. One of our old hermits 
traced for me the elements of that ineeni- 
oasart; but with a decrepid and trembling 

band In order not to give him 

the trouble of setting me such copies as 
he could set for me, I thought I would 
teach myself to write. The way I did so 
was this : I took a pane of glass out of 
my window, and placing it on a line of 
writing, I traced outside the glass the 
characters I saw through it By applica* 
tion to this exercise, I soon learned to 
write badly with a great facility. 

" I found an abridgment of arith- 
metic, which soon opened to me an end- 
less source of amusement and pleasure. 
In the woods (while watching the cows), 
I chose the most retired place for study, 
and oflten I chanced to meditate there 
the greater part of a fine summer night 

'* One evening, I was amusing myself 
by considering the cluster of lights spread 
over the immensity of the heavens ; and 
while doing so, I recollected that the 
almanacks announced that on certain 
days the sun entered into signs which 
were distinguished by the names of 
animals, as the ram, the bull, etc. I 
took it into my head that I should like to 
know what these signs were; and pre- 
suming that there must be an assemblage 
of stars which bore the figures of such 
animals, I resolved to make them the 
object of my observations. 

" In order to do so, I selected the 
tallest oak of the forest for my observa- 
tory. Every nieht I repaired thither, 
and, seated on a long projecting bough, I 
sought to discover in the firmament the 
form of a man or a bull. The wonders 
which optics here effected were then un- 
known to me ; my eyes were the only 
telescope I knew of. After having fa- 
tigued them a long time in vain, I was 
ready to give up my hope of discovering, 
when accident supplied me with more 
correct ideas, and reanimated me to per- 

The accident to which he alludes was 
the finding a map of the stars, which 
gave him more accurate ideas of their 

'* I was still," he continues, ** ignorant 
of the elevation of the polar star. In 
the hope of discovering this, I fixed on a 

star which seemed of the third size, then 
with a gimlet I bored a hole through the 
branch of a tree opposite to that star; 
for I said to myself, as a disciple of 
Ptolemy might have done, ' Either that 
star moves or does not move ; if it is a 
fixed star, as my point of observation is 
fixed also, I shall constantly see it 
through this hole in the tree : if it is 
moveable, I shall cease to see it, and 
then I must try another.' 

" This, in fact, I had to do again and 
again, with no other result than that of 
breaking my gimlet. That accident made 
me think of another expedient. I got a 
fine bulrush, and splitting it lengthways, 
took out the pulp, and then tied it up 
again with a string. I mounted with 
this to my observatory in the oak, and 
sitting astride on the old bough, applied 
my eye to the tube, and turned the bul- 
rush to whatever star I wished to observe. 

'* Thus at last, by means of this nocturnal 
telescope, I became acquainted with the 
polar star. It was easy for me then to 
find out the situations of the principal 
constellations, by drawing imaginary lines 
from one star to another, following the 
projection of my celestial map." 

There are few incidents in the lives of 
self-taught men more interesting than 
this simple narrative. How singular a 
spectacle must have been the young 
Duval, with his telescope of bulrush ! 

The perusal of a work on geography 
only excited still further the desire of the 
shepherd boy for knowledge. He had no 
books, nor money to buy them ; but his 
ardour and ingenuity provided him with 
the former. He hunted and caught wild 
animals in the forest, and sold their skins 
or flesh in the neighbouring town ; he 
spread snares for birds, foxes, hares, 
squirrels — all he could get or turn to 
account, and soon realized between thirty 
and forty crowns. He travelled on foot 
more than fifteen miles, to the town of 
Nancy ; bought Pliny's " Natural His- 
tory," Livy's ** Roman History," and a 
curious selection of other works for a 
shepherd youth to purchase, together 
with some good maps. His purchases 
exceeded his cash ; but the bookseller 
insisted on his taking all he had chosen. 
Valentine naturally wished to know why 
the man, to whom he was a stranger, 
would thus trust to him. 

" I confide in your physiognomy," 
said this person in reply, ** and in your 
desire for instruction. I am sure you 
will not deceive me." He did not do so. 



*' From that time/' continues Duval, 
** my little cell at the hermitage be- 
came an abridged world. The walls were 
hung round with maps of its king- 
doms and provinces ; and as it was so 
small, I fastened my celestial map over 
the roof of my bed, so that I could not 
open my eyes without beholding a cloud 
of stars which had no light but for the 

Having accidentally found a gold seal, 
belonging to an English gentleman, he 
had the integrity to restore it to its 
owner, who, pleased with his honesty 
and intelligence, made him a present of 
books. A still more happy event was, 
however, at hand. 

In a wood which he had made his only 
study, Valentine was one day sitting 
beneath a tree, surrounded by books, and 
intently tracing a route on the map. He 
had been told, that in America facilities 
for studying at a university would be 
afforded to him. He was tracing the 
route from France to America, thinking 
how he could pursue it. A stranger, who 
had been regarding him unperceived, 
drew near, and inquired what he was 

*' I am tracing the route to America," 
replied the youth, with unconcern. 

" Why do you want to know it ?" the 
stranger asked. 

" I want to get there, if I can, to pur- 
sue my studies at a university." 

** Indeed I" cried the stranger. " Surely 
there are colleges in Lorraine which might 
answer you as well." 

** But how am I to go to them, when 
I am poor, and have no friends?" 

<'Why, as your fondness for study 
seems to deserve it, I shall be happy to 
assist you in entering one." 

At that moment some gentlemen and 
servants, who were of the stranger's 
party, came through the wood, and 
saluted him with the title of highness. 
The shepherd youth found it was the 
sovereign duke of Lorraine who had just 
undertaken to be his patron. The duke 
fulfilled his promise. Valentine Duval 
entered a college at his charge ; and when 
his studies there were ended, he made 
the young man his librarian, and had 
him afterwards appointed professor of 
history at the academy of Luneville, the 
town where the young shepherd had gone 
to the fair when he bought his first maps. 

From that post of honour Duval passed 
into the service of the then emperor of 
Germany, Francis i., where his genius 

found a suitable field for its exercise. 
Before entering upon this post he re- 
visited his native place, and as a memo- 
rial, we trust, of his gratitude to God for 
his gracious dispensations towards him, 
built a school-house for the benefit of 
poor children. He died, as we stated, 
in 1772. His biography, to repeat oar 
opening remark, has almost a romantic 
interest; and illustrates, in a singular 
manner, the beneficial results which 
spring from perseverance. His thirst 
for knowledge was insatiable ; but with- 
out detr&cting from that praiseworthy 
feature, we may only observe, that per- 
severance is never so appropriately exer- 
cised as when, under the teaching of the 
Holy Spirit, it directs its possessor to the 
acquisition of that knowledge which is 
Divine, and the attainment of those joys 
which are celestial in their nature and 
endless in their duration. B. 


How important and solemn are many 
of the considerations connected with the 
present moment of tinie. 

This moment, I who read these words 
am either a regenerated soul, pardoned 
and saved by grace, or an unrenewed 
sinner, exposed to the wrath of God — a 
son of the Lord most high, or a willing 
servant of Satan — an heir of heaven and 
eternal glory, or a traveller in the broad 
road to hopeless perdition. 

This moment, whatever be my cha« 
racter, I am in the presence and under 
the immediate notice of a holy God, 
whose all> searching eye reads my inmost 

This moment, the power of that God, 
prompted by his mercy, upholds me in 
conscious existence, protects and pre- 
serves me from death ; while some one or 
more of my fellow-beings is compelled to 
obey the summons of the " king of ter- 
rors," and hasten to be numbered with 
the dead. 

This moment a record is made in that 
book out of which I am to be judged — a 
record of my present act — a record of 
what I am intending to do the next 
moment, and at some future hour — a 
record of the motives which now actuate 
me, and prompt me to the perform&nce 
of these contemplated acts. 

The passing moment is just now going 
into eternity, to witness in a case soon to 



be tried— « case upon the decision of 
which my eternal happiness or misery 

The present moment shortens the 
period allotted me for preparation to 
stand before the *' great white throne" of 
God and the Lamb, and brings me so 
much nearer my eternal home ; for 

** ETery beating pnlse I tell 

Leaves but the aumber less." 

This moment I am liable to be sum- 
moned before the judgment-seat of the 
Searcher of hearts, to give an exact 
account of my past life and present cha- 
racter; for, 

** Dangers stand thick through all the ground, 
To push me to the tomb-." 

This moment, if I am still an impeni- 
tent sinner, I am growing more hardened 
in sin and rebellion against God, and my 
future prospects are becoming more 
deeply and fearfully enshrouded in 

This moment, if an unconverted soul, 
I am turning my back upon the bleeding, 
dying Saviour of sinners, and deafening 
my ear to all the touching accents and 
afiectionate invitations of mercy, uttered 
by the spotless Lamb of Calvary ! 

This moment, doubtless, some soul is, 
by neglect or sinful act, dropping the 
last drop into its cup of iniquity, previous 
to its being given over to hardness of 
heart and blindness of mind for ever; 
and I know not, if I am still unreconciled 
to God, but that even now I may be 
passing that critical point. 

This moment, O my soul, awake to 
action in reference to thine eternal in- 
terests ; for upon the decisions of this mo- 
ment thy future and unalterable destiny 
may depend ! Flee then to the Saviour ; 
cry to him, if you have never yet done 
so ; ask fervently for his Spirit ; and from 
the present moment resolve, in the Divine 
strength, to submit to his light and easy 
yoke ! — The Advocate, 


Towards the close of the afternoon of 
a briUiani and more than usually warm 
day in August, 1572, two ladies, of the 
middle rank, were returning from wit- 
nessing one of the gorgeous pageants 
which had been given in Paris, in honour 
of the recent nuptials of the king of 
Navarre. Of these ladies, one, a few 

years vounger than the other, was an 
English maiden, of the name of Cicely 
Howard; At the time of our narrative, 
she happened to be on a temporary visit 
to the French capital, and resided with 
her companion, madame Lecroix, a dis- 
tant relative of her father. This lady 
was a Parisian both by birth and tastes ; 
although nominally a Huguenot, she 
oared little for the distinctive peculiarities 
of Protestantism, visiting the mass-house 
fully as often as the chapel. Our young 
countrywoman, who had been trained in 
habits of deep piety,, was returning, wea- 
ried of the glittering spectacle she had 
witnessed, and listening, with little inter- 
est, to her volatile companion, who was 
loud in admiration of the splendour of 
the scene. Madame Lecroix was in the 
midst of a long description of some 
elegant velvet mantle, which she had 
noticed in the procession ; when as they 
entered a street comparatively deserted 
by passengers, a low eroan, as of one in 
pain, caught the quick ear of the young 

" Hush, dear madame I " she ex- 
claimed; '* did you not hear that sound ? 
Some one near us must be ill, or in 

** We have no time to stop, you know," 
rejoined her companion, as Cicely paused 
— "and perhaps it was only your own 
fancy, after all. — Well, as I was saying, 
it was such a jewel of a mantle." 

" Nay, there again,,"^ said Cicely, *' is 
the same sound ; " and she looked 
anxiously round to discover whence it 
proceeded. "Oh! I see," she con- 
tinued; "it must be that poor soldier, 
leaning against the gateway over there : 
he is ill. No one is near him ; shall we 
not ask him the cause of his distress?" 

" Surely not. Cicely," exclaimed ma- 
dame Lecroix, by no means pleased at 
the interruption; ^^it would be highly 
indecorous for me to do so, whatever may 
be your customs in England." 

" With your permission, then, I will 
go alone," rejoined the young English- 
woman ; and, springing with a light step 
across the street, she found the soldier, 
pale and exhausted, and scarce able to 

" You appear to be very ill ? " she 
timidly inquired. " Can I do anything 
to relieve you?" 

" Oh yes ! " said the soldier, " I am ill 
indeed. Some water, kind lady — some 
water, to save my life ! I have not long 
recovered from a lingering fever, and 



have mounted guard, I fear, too soon ; 
but I dare not quit my post." 

To knock at an adjoining door, Uf 
■elicit a draught of water from the female 
who opened it, and to bear it to the poor 
invalia, was with Cicely Howard the 
work of a few minutes. Joyfully the 
soldier drained the cup, and was evidently 
revived by its contents. 

** The blessing of the holy virgin and 
St. Bartholomew be with you, kind 
maiden, "gratefully exclaimed the soldier, 
as he still retained the vessel in his hands. 
'' I covet no blessing but God's," said 
Cicely, who had been early trained to 
abhor any approaches to Romish super- 
stition; <*but it is time I should rejoin 
my companion. Let me restore, I pray 
you, the cup to its owner." 

" You are English and a Huguenot, I 
perceive, madame," said the soldier, with 
a peculiar look, which startled Cicely. 
" May I ask where you reside ? I 
beseech you, deny me not an answer," 
he continued, observing Cicely's natural 
hesitation; "it is no impertment curi- 
osity which makes me ask it. I cannot 
return the cup until you have told me." 
Anxious to overtake madame Lecroix, 
and embarrassed at her situation. Cicely 
hesitated a moment longer, and then 
hastily named the street where she 
resided, and the number of her house. 
^ Do not, I beseech you, on the honour 
of a soldier," she added (half ashamed of 
what, in the confusion of the moment, 
she had done), ** do not distress me by 
any fbrther notice; you have rendered 
abundant thanks already for my small 
kindness; and my companion has been 
even now too long detained by me." 

Cicely hastened on in the direction 
which her friend had taken. On rejoin- 
ing her, she found madame Lecroix 
highly scandalized at the impropriety 
which, as she considered, her companipn 
had committed. 

" Impracticable girl ! " she exclaimed ; 
"how could you venture to notice any 
one, so far your inferior, in the street?" 
" Since you ask me, dear madame, I 
must tell you the truth," rejoined Cicely. 
" It was because our Lord gave to his 
disciples the parable of the Good Sama- 
ritan, and bade them do likewise; and 
even the small gift of a cup of water in 
his name is not despised." 

" I wish you were in England again, 
with all my heart, mademoiselle," im- 
patiently replied madame Lecroix. " I 
have no idea of being troubled with your 

religion during the week; your bigotry 
on Sunday is amply sufficient. Besides, 
you have betrayed yourself and ruined as 
all, by refusioff the blessing of the virgin 
and acknowledging yourself a Huguenot 
We shall be denounced before the week 
is out It was not without some bad 
object that the rude fellow asked your 

" Surely," said Cicely, " you have not 
forgotten what you told me yourself a 
few days ago, that all was well with the 
Protestant cause since admiral Coligni 
had come to Paris." 

"It is true I said so; but I did not 
know then that the queen had only lately 
declared that there should be but one 
religion in France. You know nothing, 
child, of our many causes for doubt and 
mistrust. Take care that you go no 
more abroad while you remain in Paris. 
Your Protestant wilfulness is intolerable." 
Cicely, seeing the inutility of any 
further remonstrances, mutely signified 
her acquiescence ; and, in the depth of 
her heart, thanked God for a faith which 
taught her to fulfil duty, undisturbed by 
fear of consequences. On reachmg 
home, she was pleased to find a commu* 
nication from her father, intimating his 
wish that she should now return from 
Paris ; and requesting her to proceed to 
England by way of Calais, at which town 
she would find arrangements made, by a 
friend whom he named, for conveying 
her safely to Dover. Cicely with joy 
received this intimation ; and as she re- 
tired to rest in her chamber, earnestly 
did she mingle with prayers for the 
Divine protection, thanksgiving at the 
prospect of so soon rejoining her dearest 
earthly friend. Never were prayers for 
protection, it will be found, more needed. 
The hour of midnight was passed ; the 
festivities of the day had some time 
closed, and the many visitors of distinc- 
tion, who filled the Louvre and every 
h6tel in Paris, had retired. The city 
slept, apparently, in perfect tranquillity. 
Yet there were uneasy spirits, vainly 
seeking repose, and of these two or three 
stood in anxious suspense at an open 
window of the palace. Charles ix. of 
France, his brother of Anjou, and the 
fascinating Catherine de Medicis were 
alone together. The king sometimes 
paced the room, his brow clouded, his 
lips compressed, his whole form quivering 
with excitement, while Catherine watched 
every movement with intense anxiety. 
Suddenly he turned to the window and 



listened, but all was still as death. 
" There is yet time," be said, in a hollow 
▼oice ; " ho ! some one to bear a message 
to the duke of Guise, instantly I" And 
he was hastening to the door. But his 
mother sprang to intercept him. She 
took his hand, and led him back to the 
window. " My son," she said, "at this 
moment pity would be absurd ; clemency 
would be weakness. Extreme measures 
are grievous, but wise when needful. Be 
manly and composed. Hark I " 

They listenea until pulsation seemed 
to pause, and their limbs to become rigid, 
when suddenly a pistol-shot broke the 
stillness of the night. The mother and 
her sons started with horror, and ere 
sense or judgment returned to their con- 
trol, the tocsin of St. Germain 1' Auxerrois 
tolled its terrific signal, and forth rushed 
the citizen assassins to the massacre of 
their slumbering brethren. 

The king, wrought to frenzy, called 
for some one to save Coligni. 

** It is too late," said Catherine ; << his 
was the first head to fall ! " 

''Then no Huguenot shall live to 
accuse me of the murder," cried the 
furious king ; and ere the scene of 
slaughter closed, his own hand had fired 
upon his flying subjects, and the horrors 
of that fearful night stamped their visions 
on his brain for ever ! 

-But guilty heads were not the only 
ones that could not rest that night in 
Paris. Cicely had been disturbed by 
unusual restlessness, and, after many 
efforts at composure, arose and opened 
the casement, to breathe the refreshing 
air of the summer night. Her mind 
passed beyond the starry sky to Him 
whose glory *' the heavens declare, and 
the firmament showeth his handy work ;" 
and she was absorbed in meditation upon 
his greatness and his love, when the 
same bell that had startled the palace, 
struck upon her ear. At a loss to know 
whether or not it were intended as an 
alarm, she hastily threw on her dress, 
and returned to the easement to look out 
and listen. For some time she heard 
only a distant sound of confused noises, 
which could scarcely be defined; but 
aflter a time, rushing footsteps seemed to 
gather in the streets, and soon, amidst 
shrieks and shouts and pistol-shot, she 
heard the ill-omened cry, "Down with 
the Huguenots I Down with the Hugue- 
nots I" Cicely closed the window in 
dismay, and falling on her knees, be- 
sought aid and protection from Him who 

is "a very present, help in time of 
trouble." The noise and confusion in 
the street meanwhile increased, and a 
loud battering was commenced at the 

<* Down with the Huguenots I the Hu- 
guenots I " shouted the crowd without, as 
the door yielded to the strength of the 
assailants ; and several armed men, with 
white badges on their hats, rushed in. 
'* Where are the Huguenots ? " they cried. 

"I am a Hupuenot," said Cicely, 
calmly, — "the others in the house all 
attend mass." And, overcome by the 
dreadful but heroic effort, she sank at the 
feet of the advancing murderer ; but the 
uplifted sword was dashed aside by an- 
other. " Hold 1" said he, " this is my 
victim I " and looking on the pale face 
of the English girl, be threw his cloak 
around her, and bore her away from the 
scene of blood and death. 

" Fear not, ladv," he whispered, as he 
hurried through the streets. " Remember 
the cup of cold water I Jean Arnaud 
will repay that generous deed." 

Cicely would have implored him to 
save her friends; but he bade her be 
silent, lest they should be interrupted, 
and both perish together. 

On they went, the soldier leading her, half 
unconscious, through scenes and sounds 
of indescribable horror, until be reached 
a small, mean dwelling, in a humble 
street, where a respectable female ad- 
mitted them. 

" Mother," said Arnaud, " I have 
saved her; protect her as you would 
your own Annette." 

" Bless thee, my child," said the wo- 
man, kindly ; '* I thank the virgin Mary 
for ifavouring thy design. But away 
now, Arnaud, or you may be suspected 
of disloyalty. Back to thy duty, my 
son ! " 

" It is fearful work, mother ; I will 
take no more part in such a scene." 

" Ah 1 if they would but be converted, 
there would be no need to kill them ; but 
they are ignorant and bigoted," simply 
replied tbt woman. 

" But you will guard this lady, though 
a Huguenot, mother? She is not a sub- 
ject of France, and should not suffer with 
the rebels." 

" No, truly ; I shall guard her for her 
kind deed to thee, be she who she may ; 
so away to thy post, my son." 

" Now lady,' said madame Arnaud, as 
her son retired, " this will secure your 
safety, even without my aid;" and she 



attempted to tbrow a rosary round the 
neck of Cicely. 

But the Protestant maiden shrunk from 
its touch; it was now, to her mind, a 
more terrific and odious symbol than 

"I cannot, madame. Pardon me; I 
am not a Protestant in name only. I 
cannot seem what I am not, even to save 
my life." 

Madame Amaud thought she was too 
weak and ill to be urged further, and 
tenderly watched ber through many days 
of sickness and suffering consequent upon 
the distress and terror she had undergone. 

Amaud either could not or would not 
bring any tidings of madame Lecroix; 
and Cicely could not venture to seek her 
former residence, in the present excited 
state of the city. By his kind exertions 
a respectable escort was obtained to 
Calais, whence she took ship for England, 
and soon despatched many a token of 
English gratitude to her generous pre- 
server and his aged mother. It was only 
some months after reaching England, 
that she learned that madame Lecroix 
had perisbed. Her halting between truth 
and error had proved her ruin. 

** Father," said Cicely, as, sbe clasped 
him affectionately to her heart, ** it was 
through the knowledge and love of our 
God that my life was saved. Had I 
never known Him who spoke that beau- 
teous parable ; had he not made me love 
to do his bidding, I had never stayed to 
give the cup of water — I had perished 
on that awful night ! " P. 


The true history of this reptile, which 
belongs to the order ampkibiaf is as fol- 
lows : — It has four limbSj a long smooth 
tail, wilh a thick head, large eyes, and a 
wide mouth; its colour is black, varie- 
gated with large yellow marks ; the sides 
present many warty excrescences, and 
the skin is sprinkled over with small 
glands: there are teeth in the palate; 
the toes are free, It is a native of the 
central and southern portions of Europe, 
and commences its existence (the young 
being produced alive, and deposited in 
marshes) as an aquatic tadpole ; then it 
undergoes a metamorphosis, analogous to 
that of the tadpole, of the frog, or newt ; 
and this being perfected, it leaves the 
water, and takes up its residence in damp, 
cool situations, being frequently found 

under decaying logs of timber, in the 
crevices of mouldering walls, and similar 
places of concealment. As it increases 
m growth, it from time to time sheds the 
cuticle, which is moulted in flakes. 
Insects, small worms, etc., constitute its 
food. From its numerous cutaneous pores 
oozes a glutinous milky fluid, of a very 
acrid nature, and which, though not 
capable of seriously injuring large ani- 
mals, is yet fatal to some of the smaller 
animals. It would appear that this fluid 
is secreted in large quantities when the 
reptile is alarmed or irritated, and is even 
ejected to some distance. Laurenti 
proved that this secretion is rapidly fatal 
to small lizards, at least when injected 
into their mouth. On one occasion he 
tried to make two gray lizards bite a 
salamander, which being teased and irri- 
tated, threw some of this fluid into their 
mouths ; one of the lizards immediately 
expired, the other fell into convulsions, 
and was dead in two minutes. On an- 
other occasion he introduced a portion of 
this into the mouth of a lizard, which 
became convulsed, and soon expired. 
That this acrid secretion is intended as a 
means of defence against the attacks of 
its natural foes, such as snakes, etc., is 
not to be doubted; and although it 
might not kill a dog, we may readily 
imagine that the dog's mouth would long 
burn with anguish, the tongue become 
swollen, and the jaws drip with frothy 
saliva. We have seen a dog thus dis- 
tressed after seizing a toad. The winter 
is passed in a state of torpor, in some 
hole or convenient recess. 

The unpleasant appearance, the recluse 
habits, and above all, the extremely acrid 
secretion which exudes from the skin of 
the salamander, led the ancients (prone 
to superstition, and but little addicted to 
a calm philosophic investigation of animal 
nature) to attribute properties to it but 
little less terrible in their effects than 
those of the basilisk. Its bite was 
accounted deadly ; and not only so, but 
to anything touched by its saliva, a poi- 
sonous quality was imparted ; herbs over 
which it crept became imbued with bane- 
ful properties; nay, even the fruits of 
trees, over the branches of which it 
crawled, received the malignant influence 
of its saliva : if applied to the hair of the 
head, it acted as a depilatory, causing 
baldness. In short the reptile was re- 
garded with horror, and classed among 
those ^ ingredients of destruction which 
the wizard or poisoner used for effecting 



the death of his victims. But the ro- 
mance of the salamauder does not end 
here ; — destructive to all living things, it 
was itself indestructible, so f&r as the 
agency of fire is concerned, not only exist- 
ing tranquilly in ^e midst of burning em- 
bers, but rapidly extinguishing the glowing 
faggots;:, furthermore, regarding fire as if 
th^ biasing fuel were a natural foe, it 
boldiy advanced to put the trial of its 
owb powers and that of the fire to the 
test, ever coming off victorious. Here 
let it be remembered, that the cuta- 
neous secretion of the salamander is 
poured forth, under excitement, very 
copiously, and that the ancients burned on 
their hearths logs of wood and bundles of 
faggots, which may be ignited in some 
parts, but not so in others. We may con- 
ceive that an animal of this kind, brought 
in among the bundles of wood, might, 
in its extremity^ and pouring forth its 
fluid secretion, dart through the fire 
without sufiering much injury, or even 
endure for a considerable time the heat 
of the non-ignited mass of the heaped-up 
combustibles ; and at length spring forth, 
to the astonishment and terror of be- 

However this may be, the belief mav 
be said to have generally prevailed. 
Aristotle notices the exemption of this 
reptile from the consuming agency of 
fire rather as a report than as verified by 
any experiment ; but he appears to 
receive it as a fact, and adduces it as a 
proof, that there are some creatures over 
which flame has no power, ^lian, 
Dioscoride^ Pliny, and others, gave 
strong testimony to this most extraor- 
dinary quality, as possessed by the reptile 
in question. To these writers Galen 
(bom A.D. 131) must, in this point, be 
regarded as forming an exception; and 
BO, in later times, was Pierre Andr6 
Mathiole (born 1500). See his << Com- 
mentaries on Dioscorides." The general 
belief, however, was as we have stated, 
and so continued until zoology began to 
become elevated into a true science. , 
Even then it lingered amongst the unin- 
formed, and M. Ponthonier, the French 
consul at Rhodes, related to Sonnini a 
strange story of a salamander seen, to 
the consternation of his servants, in his 
kitchen fire; and which, not without 
some trouble, he caught, and preserved 
in spirits of wine. But Ponthonier, who 
showed his prodigy to Sonnini, did not 
notice what the naturalist immediately 
detected ; namely, that the limbs and 

portions of the body were half roasted. 
Ponthonier 's story was published, and, 
but for Sonnini, might have confirmed 
the credulous in the old belief. 

We may here add, that the heart of 
this animal was worn as an amulet, being 
regarded as efiicacious in preserving the 
wearer against fire. In the middle ages 
it was ridiculously supposed by the alche- 
mists to have the power of transmuting 
quicksilver into gold. Horrible were the 
tortures to which, from this idea, these poor 
reptiles were subjected ; for although the 
process was considered as involving the 
operator in great danger, avarice ren- 
dered him resolute. The wretched rep- 
tiles were confined in a vessel placed over 
a glowing fire, and, by means of an iron 
tube, the quicksilver was poured upon 
them, and thus they were consumed; 
but (as we need not say) without the 
realization of the hopes of the experi- 
mentalist In those times of darkness, as 
far as natural history is concerned, the 
mineral substance asbestos was denomi- 
nated ** salamander's wool," either from 
its incombustibility, or because it was 
really supposed to be some preparation of 
that animal; for they could not be so 
ignorant as to think it a wool-bearer. Cloth 
of salamander's skin was shown to Marco 
Polo ; but the traveller at once perceived 
that this fire-proof fabric was of mineral 

We might here enter far more at 
length into the fabulous history of the 
scUamandra maculata ; but we have said 
enough to open to the reflective mind a 
sufficient glimpse of the ignorance and 
superstition of past ages. It may be 
deemed strange that learned men, whose 
works, transmitted to us, attest exaltation 
of intellect and depth of reflection, should 
have fallen into such a mist of supersti- 
tion ; and this the more especially, as the 
great men of antiquity disbelieved in the 
imaginary gods which were revered by 
the lower classes, and chuckled over a 
system intended to awe the multitude. 
But so it was : the visible works of the 
Lord were not rightly studied, nor his 
laws correctly investigated. M. 


Peter the Cruel, or Peter the Just, as 
he is variously termed by diflerent writers, 
occupied the throne of Castile and Leon, 
in Spain, towards the latter part of the 



fourteenth century. It ii related of him, 
that one night, as he wai passing, alone 
and disffuised, through a back street of 
Seville, he quarrelled with a stranger, upon 
some frivolous pretext. Swords were 
drawn, and the king killed his adversary. 
At the approach of the officers of justice, he 
took flight, and regained the palace, ima- 
gining that he had not heen recognised. 
An inquest was held. The only witness 
of the duel was an old woman, who, by 
the light of a lamp, had confusedly 
beheld the tragical scene. According to 
her deposition, the two cavalleros had 
concealed tbeir faces under their cloaks, 
as was the custom with the gallants of 
Andalusia ; but the knees of one of them, 
the conqueror, in walking, cracked. Now 
every one at Seville knew that this crack- 
ing of the knees was peculiar to the king, 
and the consequence of some malforma- 
tion, which did not, however, prevent 
him from being active and expert in all 
bodily exercises. 

Somewhat embarrassed by the dis- 
covery, the alffuasils could not deter- 
mine whether they should punish the old 
woman, or, which would be still better, 
purchase her silence. The king, how- 
ever, ordered a sum of money to be given 
her, and avowed himself to be the guilty 
person. It now remained to punish the 
person, which was a difficult matter. The 
law was explicit in such a case: the 
murderer ought to be beheaded, and his 
body exposra on the place where the 
crime had been committed. Don Pedro 
ordered that his own head,wearingacrown, 
should be modelled in stone, and the bust 
placed in a niche in the middle of the street 
which had been the scene of the combat. 
This bust was restored in the seventeenth 
century, and is still to be seen in the 
Calle ael Candilego, in Seville. 

This ingenious mode of escaping out of 
a dilemma, although conformable to the 
customs of the middle ages, proved rather 
the king's fertility of invention than his 
impartiality. The following anecdote will 
give a more favourable idea of his justice. 
A priest, provided with a rich benefice, 
had deeply injured a shoemaker. On 
being brought before an ecclesiastical 
tribunal (the only one to which he was 
amenable), the priest was for his crime 
suspended for some months from the ex- 
ercise of his sacerdotal functions. The 
artisan, dissatisfied with the sentence, 
determined to punish the offence himself; 
and, laying in wait for his adversary, in- 
flicted on him a severe corporal chastise- 

ment. He was immediately arrested^ 
tried, and sentenced to deatn. He ap- 
pealed to the king. The gross partiality 
of the ecclesiastical judges had produced 
much scandal. Don Pedro parodied 
their sentence by condemning the shoe- 
maker to abstain from making shoes for 
a year. — lAfe of Peter |A« Crid. 


At home or abroad, a Christian should 
be very careful to keep holy the sabbath 
day. In travelling, especially, amidst 
scenes of constant change and excite* 
ment, we require a day of rest ; and God 
requires it of us. Much harm has not 
only been done, but much good undone, 
by the bad example which some of our 
countrymen have set in this respect. If 
care is taken, arrangements may easily 
be made to pass the sabbath in peace and 
quietness ; and even if we are not able to 
attend any place of worship, we can at 
least commune with our hearts in our 
own chambers, and be still. 

It was on one of these quiet Sundays, 
snatched as it were from the bustle and 
excitement of a brief tour in Northern 
Germany, that the scene we are about to 
describe took place. 

Late one Saturday evening, a party 
arrived from Putbus, and took up their 
residence at the litde village of Alten- 
kirchen, where they resolved to spend 
the sabbath. They were very merry, 
talking of that pleasant watering-place, 
with its beautiful bay-^aHilmost as beautiful 
as the celebrated Bay of Naples, only in 
miniature. As the evening advanced, 
they began to speak of graver things, 
and to inquire whether there was any 
place of worship which they might attend 
on the morrow. One of the party sud- 
denly remembered that it was the season 
of the herring fishery, and bade them 
lenre everything to him. 

It was a bright, sunny morning; our 
party stood upon the sea-shore, listening 
to the murmuring, or rather to the rip- 
pling of the waves, for the eea was very 

" There is no church here," said one. 

" Wait," replied another ; " we are too 
early. It depends upon the tide." They 
sat down upon a block of wood, and re- 
lapsed into silence. Presently number- 
less dark specks began to emerge from 



tbe distant horiason. Ab they drew 
nearer, it was seen that they were fish- 
ing-boats. Most of the sails were white, 
and as the sunlight fell upon them they 
resembled a flock of sea*birds. On they 
came, one after another, but very quietly, 
and drew up on the shore, side by side. 
They were filled with fishermen from the 
neighbouring islands. A few straggling 
boats were still visible in the distance, 
when a tall, gray-haired man appeared 
upon the shore. The murmuring of many 
voices was hushed ; and after ^ few mo- 
ments spent in silent prayer, he gave out 
a hymn, which, caught up as it was, and 
echoed from shore to shore, had a very 
striking and solemn efiect The laggard 
boata glided swiftly and silently in, and 
by the time the singine had ended, a 
universal silence reigned around, broken 
only by the pleasant music of the waves. 

The clear tones of the minister were 
distinctly audible throughout that vast 
congregation, as he preached to them 
Jesus, the way, the truth, and the life. 
Some, perhaps, heard of the Saviour for 
the first time; for they were, for the 
moat part, rude, unlettered men. Tears 
might be seen upon many a rough, 
weather-stained countenance. There is 
something solemn in the tears of a strong 
man. One or two wept audibly. A few 
smiled, as though listening to glad tidings 
not altogether unfamiliar to them. All 
were deeply attentive. The discourse 
was timpie and appropriate, but at the 
same time earnest and awakening. The 
minister felt that he was preaching to 
those whose lives were more than usually 
precarious and uncertain. He mentioned 
a little fleet of fishing-boats which he had 
seen go out one calm, moonlight evening, 
during the last season of the herring 
fishery ; but which never came back 
again. A sudden storm arose, and all 
perished I Those who had not yet come 
to Christ, who wilfully rejected him in 
the hardness of their hearts, or put it ofi*, 
perhaps, to a more convenient season, 
saying within themselves, '*It will be 
time enough to think of these things 
when the herring fishery is over ; we are 
too busy now " — ^perished everlastingly ! 
But Bucdi as believed, and loved, and put 
their trust in the Lord Jesus Christ, had 
bat exchanged sorrow for rejoicing, toil 
for reat, ana earth for heaven I 

" I visited one poor woman, "continued 
the minister, " whose husband was lost 
at the melancholy period to which I have 
alluded. He was a bad husband, and a 

bad father; but she had forgotten that 
now that he was gone, and spoke of him 
with affectionate tenderness. ' Poor 
man!' said she, 'no wonder that he 
was put out sometimes. He had a hard 
life of it, working from morning till 
night ; but he is at peace now— that is my 
only consolation.' My friends, this poor 
widow's consolation was a false one! 
' There is no peace, saith my God, to the 
wicked.' There is no peace out of 

Much more was said to the same pur- 
pose; and then, another hymn having 
been given out and sung, and the bless- 
ing pronounced, the little fleet of fishing- 
boats began quietlv to disperse. Some of 
the men continued to sing as they glided 
over the rippling waves, and the solemn 
notes of that old hymn-tune were slow to 
die away. 

Perceiving that they were strangers, 
the venerable minister approached our 
little party, and entered into conversation 
with them. He told them that the scene 
with which they appeared to have been 
80 much interested, might be witnessed 
for eight successive Sundays, at the 
period of the herring fishery. This was 
the fourth time he had preached during 
the present season. He nad great reason 
to hope that, under the blessing of God, 
good had been and would be done by 
these means. He mentioned one or two 
instances of an evident change both in 
heart and life among his congregation ! 
There may have been more, he said, for 
it was his belief that we are often, for 
wise purposes, not permitted to know 
half the good, or, alas 1 half the evil of 
which we may be the unconscious instru- 
ments. <* But we shall know one day," 
added he, <* even as we are known." He 
was evidently fatigued with his exertions, 
for he was an old man, and the day was 
intensely hot ; nevertheless, it was easy 
to perceive that his was a labour of love. 
He parted from our travellers as men 
part who will never, in all probability, 
meet again in this world ; but hope to ao 
so in another and a better. 

The evening came slowlv on. There 
was a glorious sunset, and the sea looked 
like a sheet of gold. The rippling waves 
seemed to be gliding away with the glit- 
tering fragments, and to break murmur- 
inglv on the shore in sorrow that their 
brightness had passed away so soon. A 
soft, summer twilight succeeded; and 
then the pale stars came out, one by one, 
and the lighthouse at Arkona becama 


distinctly visible on its chalky promon- 
tory, standing nearly a hundred and 
seventy-five feet above the sea. The bell 
of a distant church rang through the still 
air, reminding our travellers that it was 
the Lord's day, and they returned to 
thank him for it — for the beautiful world 
he had made and redeemed to himself, 
and for the many and undeserved mercies 
which had followed them throughout 
their whole lives, even until now. 

So ended our sabbath at Alton kirchen. 

E. Y. 


Often from my window on the sea- 
shore I have observed a little boat at 
anchor. Day after day, and month after 
month, it is seen at the same spot. While 
many a e^allant vessel spreads its sails, 
and, catching the favouring breeze, has 
reached the haven, this little bark moves 
not from its accustomed spot. True it is 
that when the tide rises, it rises ; and 
when it ebbs again, it sinks; but it 
advances not. Why is this? Approach 
nearer, and you will see. It is fastened 
to the earth by one slender rope. There 
is the secret. A cord scarcely visible 
enchains it, and will not let it go. Now, 
stationary Christians, see here your state, 
— the state of thousands. Sabbaths come 
and go, but leave them as before. Ordi- 
nances come and go ; ministers come 
and go ; means, privileges, sermons, 
move them not, — yes, they move them ; 
— a slight elevation by a sabbath tide, 
and again they sink ; but no onward, 
heavenward movement. They are re- 
mote as ever from the haven of rest ; this 
sabbath as the last, this year as the past. 
Some one sin enslaves, enchains the soul, 
and will not let it go. Some secret, un- 
seen, allowed indulgence, drags down the 
soul, and keeps it fast to earth. 'If it be 
so, snap it asunder ; make one desperate 
effort in the strength of God. Take the 
Bible as your chart, and Christ as your 
pilot, to steer you safely amid the dan- 
gerous rocks ; and pray for the Spirit of 
all grace to fill out every sail, and waft 
you onwards over the ocean of life, to 
the haven of everlasting rest. 


It is done with sincerity and cheerful- 
ness. There is no hypocrisy there ; no 

formal sacrifice is offered on that altar. 
There is no pensiveness, no depression, 
no gloom in tnat blessed society, but all 
that is buoyant and <;heerful. In this 
low world true religion is an exotic ; an 
unnatural and indigenous plant, confined 
and stunted in its growth, and sometimes 
a meagre, dwarfish, and ungainly thing ; 
it partakes of the cold soil and cheerless- 
ness of this low earth ; never arrives at 
maturity, and sometimes blooms to fade. 
But what pencil can paint or poetry 
describe its beauty and fragrance, when 
transplanted to the skies? No longer 
some depressed and drooping floweret, it 
is like Sharon's rose, unfolding its leaves 
on its native bed. 

It is the joy, I had almost said it is 
the mirth of heaven, to obey the statutes 
of its King. The perception, the rea> 
son, the judgment, the memory, are all 
joyfully employed in such a service. 
Even the imagination, that ungo- 
vemed< and wandering faculty, which 
here on the earth is so often the sport of 
temptation and the plaything of the arch 
deceiver, there exerts its magic and hal-* 
lowed influence, ever supplying the mate- 
rials of some new service, some new puiv 
pose of devotedness, some new scene of 
still more gratified holiness and exquisite 
joy. Their obedience is, indeed, the 
obedience of thought and deliberate pur- 
pose ; but it is also the obedience of love. 
Love is the element in which pure spirits 
breathe. Love is the soul of heaven, 
— strong and urgent, — " swift to do His 
will, hearkening to the voice of his word." 

In heaven the will of God is likewise 
done perfectly f and far ever ! ... The 
flow of holy affections is there constant 
and resistless, and their strength and 
vigour remains for ever unabated. There 
are no seasons of languor and declension, 
no apostasy and backsliding. No wan- 
dering thought, no vain desire there 
creeps into the soul. There is no back- 
wardness, no unfruitfulness, no weariness, 
no satiety. Ten thousand times ten 
thousand and thousands of thousands 
cease not day nor night from their active 
service or their anthems of praise. There 
the soul eagerly cleaves to, affectionately 
admires, and constantly rests on God. 
Its thoughts and desires are concentrated 
in this single object, pleased and satisfied 
with God as its portion, acting from him 
as its Author, for him as its Master, and 
to him as its End. Eternity rolls on; 
and he that is holy is holy still. Thus 
the will of God is done in heaven, in all 



its parts, by every individual, sincerely 
and cheerfully, perfectly and for ever I 

Reader! are you living in habitual 
expectation of and preparation for such a 
state? Do you set your affection on 
things above? Is your conversation in 
heaven ? 


How many commit a species of slow 
suicide by fostering the depressing emo- 
tions I For it must be confessed, that a 
very large proportion of the sufferings 
that occupy human life are not so often 
inflicted as volimtarily entertained. The 
pains of memory are prolonged far 
beyond what serves any good purpose, 
and griefs are nursed that had better be 
forgotten. How many refuse to be com- 
forted, or to let any consideration with- 
draw their minds from what they are 
resolved to deplore ! How many pass 
their whole lives in fear of a thousand 
things which may never happen, and 
never do happen ! The degree to which 
we are acted on by positively distressing 
events, depends more on our own wills 
than we are disposed to confess. We need 
not take refuge in stoicism or selfish 
indifference, to escape the other extreme. 
There is sometimes a luxury, and often a 
very becoming propriety in grief, and the 
gentler sex, especially, think themselves 
justified in seeking the relief of tears, 
which often means a passive yielding to 
emotion which never yet did anybody 
good. The faculty of crying can be 
cultivated to great perfection, and is 
most pernicious and enfeebling to mind 
and body. Whether it arise from sym- 
pathy, or from solid personal calamities, 
sorrow should and can be moderated. 
But the chronic excess which is most 
enervating is, perhaps, chiefly occasioned 
by brooding and self-pity. Nothing is 
further from the writer's intention than 
to speak unfeelingly of the numerous 
class whose lives are passed with very 
scanty measure of the ou{ward material 
of happiness, and who, if they have it at 
aO, must get it from within themselves. 
But the effects are the same, however 
excusable the habit of ''giving way" 
may ^appear to be. 

We nave written as if it were possible, 
by the mere force of will, directed by 
good sense, to secure a great exemption 
from the moral causes of ill health ; and 
nothing is more true. Both the qQality 

and the degree of our feelings are put 
very much in our power. We may allow 
the mind to be wholly occupied and 
absorbed by what pains and annoys it, or 
we may refuse. A taste for laudable 
reading, and the capacity of being inter- 
ested about things rather than persons ; 
and, better still, the desire to do good 
and to make others happy ; or the whole- 
some distractions of duty, will, in this 
point of view, be of the greatest service 
to health. It is the vacant mind that 
falls the easiest prey. To live for a good 
object is to be clad in armour. 

But we are not left to contend against 
unhappiness by mere fortitude and good 
sense, though nothing can be done with- 
out them. The world is full of tempta- 
tions and distresses, which need the 
sovereign antidote of confiding love to 
God as a Saviour in Christ Jesus, and a 
resulting unconditional acquiescence in 
his will. Half the things which vex 
human existence would find the heart 
insensible to their natural effect, if it 
were fixed in the belief that God is a 
Father to all who truly believe in Jesus 
Christ; that all things are open to his 
eyes, and nothing can happen without 
his permission, seeing that the very hairs 
of the head are all numbered, and not a 
sparrow falls to the ground without him ; 
and that for every foithful soul there is 
** an inheritance incorruptible, and unde- 
filed, and that fadeth not away, reserved 
in heaven," 1 Pet. i. 4. With such a 
belief, a man can afford to forget delights 
that time could never restore, to forgive 
injuries that could never be retrieved, and 
to deny all affections that did not har- 
monize with so great a hope. And the 
residue of unhappiness which might 
remain after all other sources had been 
dried up, from the pressure of care, 
bereavements, loss of substance, and all 
the difiiculties and trials of life what- 
soever, would assume an altered and 
bearable aspect from the different inter- 
pretation that would be put upon them, 
as opportunities of proving the loyalty 
and sincerity of his faith. This would 
be the true philosopher's stone, that 
would turn everything into gold; and 
this is reallv what is offered by the reve- 
lation whicn has been made to suffering 
humanity, as exhibited in the words of 
Scripture : ** God so loved the world, 
that he gave his only begotten Son, that 
whosoever believeth in him should not 
perish, but have everlasting life," John 
iii. 16; << Therefore b^ing justified by 



faith, we have peace with God through 
our Lord Jesus Christ," Rom. v. 1 ; and, 
** As many as received him, to them gave 
he power to become the sons of God, 
even to them that believe on his name," 
John L 12; '< If children, then heirs;" 
*< He that spared not his own Son, but 
delivered him up for us all, how shall he 
not with him also freely give us all 
things?" and, " All things work together 
for good to them that love God," Rom. 
viii. 17, 32, 28 ; <* Be careful for nothing," 
PhiL iv. 6 ; " Casting all your care upon 
him ; for he careth for you," 1 Pet. v. 7. 
— <* Good Health," published by the Beli- 
gioue Tract Society^ 


The father of John Brown, of White- 
burn, was the celebrated professor John 
Brown, author of the <' Self-interpreting 
Bible," the « Exposition of the Assem- 
bly's Shorter Catechism," and other 
works, and teacher of theology in the 
United Secession Church. He was an 
extraordinary man. When a poor shep- 
herd-bov, he conceived the idea of learn- 
ing Latm and Greek ; and having pro- 
cured a few old books, actually accom- 
plished the task while tending his cattle 
on the hills. So successful was he, that 
some of the old and superstitious people 
IB the neighbourhood concluded tnat he 
roust have been assisted by "the evil 
spirit." On one occasion he went to 
Edinburgh, plaided and barefoot, walked 
into a bookseller's shop, and asked for a 
Greek Testament. " *< What are you 
going to do with a Greek Testament ? " 
said the bookseller, with a smile ; " ye 
may have it for nothing if ye'ill read it." 
Taking the book, he quietly read off a 
few verses, and gave the translation ; on 
which he was permitted to carry off the 
Greek Testament in triumph. Professor 
Brown was eminently an holy man. He 
was equally distinguished for bis sim- 
plicity and dignity of character. His 
preaching was much admired by old and 
judicious persons. On one occasion, when 
he and others were assisting a brother 
minister in services preparatory to the 
celebration of the Lord's supper, which 
services in Scotland usually take place 
on the last days of the week preceding 
the ** sacramental sabbath," and are frc" 
quently held in the open air, a couple of 
gay young men had been out hunting, 

and on their return home drew near to 
the large congregation who were listening 
at that moment to the preaching of an 
eloquent, but somewhat showy divine. 
After standing a few moments, the one 
said to the other, " Did you ever hear 
such preachinff as that?" "No," he 
replied ; " but he does not believe a word 
of what he is saying." After this preacher 
had closed, there stood up, in the " tent " 
(a temporary pulpit erected in the open 
air, for the accommodation of the mini- 
sters), an old, humble-looking man, who 
announced his text in a trembling voice, 
as if he were afraid to speak in God's 
name. He went on, and became more 
and more interesting, more and more im- 
pressive. The young men were awed, 
and listened with reverent attention to 
the close, when the one, turning to the 
other, said, "And what d'ye think of 
that? " "Think of it," he replied ; " I 
don't know what to think." "Why, 
didn't you see how every now and then 
he turned round in the tent, as if Jesus 
Christ were behind him; and he was 
asking, ' Lord, what shall I say next ? ' " 
This preacher was John Brown, the 
secret of whose pulpit eloquence was, the 
inspiration of an humble and contrite 
heart, touched by the finger of the 
Almighty ; an eloquence as far trans- 
cending that of the mere oratdr as the 
Divine and heavenly transcends the hu- 
man and earthly. This, too, was the 
eloquence of the early Scottish preachers 
-—of Knox and Rutherford, of Guthrie 
and Erskine, of Cameron and Boston. 
This fired the hearts of the people with a 
holy and all- conquering zeal; this shed a 

§lory over the death of the martyrs, and 
iffused among their descendants the love 
of God. May this ever continue to be 
the eloquence, not only of the church in 
Scotland, but of the church throughout 
the world ! '— TurnbvWe " Genius of 


Lives of great men all remind us 
We may make our lives sublime ; 

And, departing, leave behind us 
Footprints on the sands of time. 

Footprints which perhaps another. 
Sailing o'er life's solemn main. 

Some forlorn and shipwreck'd brother 
Seeing, may take heart again. 

— Longfellow. 




The wind in out own temperate and 

favaurabl; <ituated country is Beldom 
known in thoss extraordinary forms of 
action wbich it auumes in foreign lands. 
A briik gale on our coatt, inspiring un- 
eaiiness to those who have relatives or 
property at sea, is in genera! the moBt 
lormidaDle feature of it which we have to 
dread. With the hurricane, the tornado, 
the malaria, and the sirocco, the mon- 
Mon, or typhoon, we are happily ac- 
quainted but in name. In the engraving 
at ihe head of our article ia given a 
representation of another of these forms 
of elemental strife, which most of us 
know nothing of, save through Ihe me- 
dium of travelters' narrations. As our 
readers draw their parlour curtains, and 
listen to the chill blasts of February out 
of doors, we propose turning their ima- 

gination to the deserts of Arabia, and 
showing- that wind which here calls into 
active requisition every form of wrapper, 
muff, or great coat, there is an object of 
dread from its hot and oppressive qua- 

"The simoom," says Dr.Kitto, in liis 
work on " Physical Geography," from 
whichwe quote the subjoined informalion, 
" blows generally from the direction of 
the nearest sandy deserts ; in Syria from 
those of Arabia, and in Egypt from those 
of Africa." Dr. Russell informa us, that 
" the true simoom never reaches so far 
north a9 Aleppo, nor is common in the 
desert between that city and Basrah." 
He was, however, careful to collect the 
reports of the Arabs \ which he thus 
states: — " They assert that its progression 
is in separate or distinct currents, so that 
the caravan, which in its march in ihe 
desert sometimes spreads lo a great 



breadth, suffers only partially in certain 
places of the line; while the intermediate 
parts remain untouched. That some- 
times those only who happen to be 
mounted on camels are affected, though 
more commonly such as are on foot ; but 
that both never suffer alike. That lying 
flat on the ground till the blast passes 
over is the best method of avoiding the 
danger, but that the attack is sometimes 
so sudden as to leave no time for precau- 
tion. Its effects sometimes prove in- 
stantly fatal, the corpse being livid, or 
black, like that of a person blasted by 
lightning; at other times it produces 
putrid fevers, which prove mortal in a 
few hours ; and that very few of those 
who have been struck recover. This is 
not all they tell. The attention of 
Thevenot was strongly drawn to the sub- 
ject, and he made particular inquiries 
concerning it, at the towns on the borders 
of the desert, of different persons in dif- 
ferent places. He says that they all 
agreed in their testimony, which is the 
same in substance as that which has jtist 
been adduced, with these additions (which, 
we know, form part of the current ac- 
count among the natives.) ' No sooner 
does a man die by this wind than he 
becomes black as a coal, and if one take 
him by the leg, arm, or any other place, 
his flesh comes off from the bone, and is 
plucked off by the hand that would lift 
nim up. They say that in this wind 
there are streaks of Are as small as a 
hair, which have been seen by some, and 
that those who breathe in those rays of 
fire die of them, the rest receiving no da- 
mage.'" We willingly confess that there 
are some points in these statements which 
savour of exaggeration ; but we consider 
that, taking the whole of these reports at 
their lowest value, they evince at least 
that the simoom is sometimes productive 
of immediately fatal effects in the interior 
of the deserts. Most of the described 
phenomena suggest a highly electrical 
state of the atmosphere, and the symp- 
toms of immediate putrefaction are such 
as occur in oases of death by lightning. 

The mitigated effects of this wind, as 
experienced and reported by European 
travellers, may thus be described : 

The Arabs, and others accustomed to 
the deserts, are aware of the signs which 
portend a coming simoom ; and if they 
make the discovery before a day's journey 
is commenced, cannot be induced to 
depart from their station until it is over- 
past. Even the cattle are sensible of the 

approaching evil, and manifest then* un- 
easiness by plaintive cries, and other 
tokens of distress. All animated nature 
seems to take alarm, and to throw itself 
upon the defensive. The horizon gradu- 
ally assumes a dull purplish oiW»let hue, 
while the sun becomes shorn of its beams, 
and looks red and heavy, as through a 
London fog. Then comes on the hot 
wind, laden with a subtile and burning 
dust, or rather fine sand, which pene- 
trates to all things ; the atmosphere be- 
comes exceedingly hot, and the air, less 
even from its heat* than from its noxious 
qualities and the particles with which it 
is laden, is breathed with difficulty ; and 
even under the shelter of a tent, and with 
every possible precaution and safeguard, 
the effect is most distressing. It fires,bums, 
dries up the lungs, the mouth is parched, 
the skin is dry, and a feeling of universal 
debility prevails, while the pulse rises as 
in fever. Life seems attacked in its most 
delicate organs ) and there is much rea- 
son to fear that any prolonged subjection 
to even this greatly mitigated form of the 
evil would be attended with serious con- 
sequences ; and still more if no measures 
of protection against it were sought. Mr. 
Madden, who was exposed to a some- 
what slight simoom in the desert of Suez, 
and remained in his tent while it lasted 
(above seven hours), describes the sensa- 
tion as inexpressibly distressing ; but he 
does not think it was the degree of heat 
that occasioned it, for in Upper Egypt he 
had suffered an equally high tempera- 
ture f without any such prostration of 
strength and spirits. But he believe^ 
the hot wind of the desert to be connected 
with an electrical state of the atmosphere, 
which has a depressing influence on the 
nervous system. And this, it will be 
remembered, is the opinion of a medical 

In Egypt, where, as in Palestine, this 
wind is much less alarming than even in 
the border deserts, it exchanges its name 
of simoom for that of kamseen (fifty), be- 
cause it is felt the most frequently auring 
fifty days about the vernal equinox. 

It is not so much alleged, generally, 
that the naked operation of simoom is so 
destructive, even in the interior of the 
great deserts, as the immense drifts and 

* Fynes Moryson compares the inspiring of this 
air to the hasty swallowing of too hot broth !— a 
homely but expressive comparison. 

t "The thermometer at two o'clock rose to 1 10® In 
the shade; and on putting the bulb in the sand, 
outside the tent, in a few minutes the mercury was 
at 130.O " 



whirlmnds of sand which it raises; We 
have seen that there are some indications 
of this, that it fills the air with fine sand, 
even in the border deserts ; and how 
much more then in those vast interior 
expansfl^ where, even in a state of 
rest, the immense hills* of sand thrown 
up by the winds, and left to be swept 
away and removed by some future storms, 
bear evidence to the operations of the 
wind upon these sandy surfaces. Im- 
mense clouds of sand are, under the 
operation of the wind, raised high in air, 
and in their ultimate fall overwhelm 
whatever lies below. Often the whirling 
eddies of the wind condense the drifting 
sands into more compact masses, causing 
them to spindle up int9 tall and rounded 
columns, which, still acted upon by the 
power which beared and sustains them, 
keep moving over the plain till they fall 
in a hill or wide-spread sheet of sand. 
Thus the siu^ce of the desert is, to a 
considerable depth, in freqttent motion; 
and thu9, we afe told, caravans and entire 
armies have been slain and buried by the 
concurrent effects of the hot wind, and of 
the immense masses of sand which it 
drifts fo furiously along. To such a 
cause history attributes the loss of the 
army which the mad Persian conqueror, 
Cambyses, sent across the desert against 
the inhabitants of the oasis of Ammon. 
Happily these sand-storms, in their more 
terrible forms, are far from common ; else 
no one could adventure to pass the desert. 
They are also less frequent and less 
formidable in the deserts of South-western 
Asia than in those of Africa, westward 
from Egypt, where the tracts of sand are 
more extensive, and seem to be more 
easily set in motion. 

As the simoom usually moves at a 
certain height in the atmosphere, the 
common resource against its effects is, as 
already intimated, to lie flat on the 
ground till it has passed over. Man was 
probably taught this resource by observ- 
ine that, at such times, camels and other 
animals bend their heads to the ground, 
and bury their nostrils in the sand. Shel- 
ter fi?om the sand-storm is sought in 
nearly the same manner. The traveller 
generally lies down on the lee side of his 
camel ; but as the sands are soon driOed 
around him to the level of his body, both 
the beast and its owner are obliged fre- 
quently to rise and change their position, 

* In the Caspian steppes (of pure sand) we have 
seen such hills at least thirty feet high, by about 
the same diameter. 

to avoid being entirely covered. If the 
storm is of long duration, as it often is, 
this cdnstant exertion, with the effects of 
the hot wind, aud the dread and danger 
of the sandy inundation, produces such 
weariness, sleepiness, or despair, that 
both men and animals remain on the 
ground, and a very short time suffices to 
bury them under the sands. It is thus 
chiefly that the simoom becomes ex- 
tremely destructive to the life of man 
and beast. It is easy, in our own cool 
and quiet country, to sit down and doubt 
about these things; but the whitened 
bones which strew the desert bear witness 
to their truth. And any one who, even 
at a safe season of the year, has passed 
over such wastes, and during the halt of 
his caravan has lain down for rest upon 
the loose sand, wrapped up in his cloak, 
must, like the writer of this, have felt a 
very serious conviction of the probability 
of such events. The only marked objects 
in the sandy desolation are the huge 
hillocks of drifted sand ; and he knows 
that such winds as formed them can dis- 
perse them all abroad over the face of the 
land ; and he knows not but that, after 
the next storm, a mound of sand may 
cover the place whereon he lies. 

These showers and whirlwinds of sand, 
or of sand and dust, or of dust only, 
according to the nature of the country, 
were certainly known to the Hebrews. 
Their recent experience in the desert 
taught them to know the full intensity of 
those visitations with which Moses de- 
nounced that God would scourge their 
disobedience : — " Thy heaven that is over 
thy head shall be brass, and the earth 
that is under thee shall be iron. Jeho- 
vah will give instead of rain to thy land 
dust ; and from the heavens shall dust 
descend upon thee until thou be de- 
stroyed," Deut. xxviii. 23, 24. 


If it were inquired of us, whose influ- 
ence upon the world's destiny has, in our 
opinion, already been, and will hereafter 
be felt as deeply, perhaps, as that of any 
mere human being who has ever lived ; 
instead of naming any one who has sat 
upon a throne, or has counselled kings, 
or has fought battles, or has been eloquent 
or learned; that person, our answer 
would be, is a certain female, whose an- 




eestral nuM we have been able by no 
research to discover; but the period of 
whose birth happened, as we find it 
incidentally mentioned, on the lUh of 
July, 1732. And who, the reader, per- 
haps, is ready to ask, was this unknown 
but wonderful woman ? We reply, " The 
mother of John Newton." 

That the conversion of her son was 
owing, under God, to the prayers and 
instruction of Mrs. Newton, it is impos- 
sible to doubt He was but seven years 
of age at the period of her death ; and 
yet retained so strong an impression of 
her character, that a course of the most 
unrestrained abandonment to sin could 
not wholly efface her image from his 
mind. It followed him amid all the 
scenes of profligacy into which he 
plunged, and imposed upon him a re- 
straint, from which he could at no time 
altogether escape, and which in the end 
proved the means of his recovery to a life 
of piety and usefulness. 

It is unnecessary to pass the life of 
this remarkable man in minute review 
before us. He was more than forty 
years, it is well known, one of the most 
laborious and successful preachers of the 
gospel that have in modern times blessed 
the church. There are few men who 
have been instrumental in turning so 
many souls to God as were converted by 
the personal efforts of his ministry. This, 
however, was but one of his departments 
of action. He served the cause of the 
Redeemer with equal effect, perhaps, in 
other ways. 

There can be no doubt that we are 
Indebted mainly to the agency of Newton 
for all the important services which the 
celebrated Dr. Buchanan has rendered to 
the church and the world. It was at a 
time when the future author of the 
^* Christian Researches in Asia" was in a 
state, not of utter indifference, indeed, 
yet of great looseness of views in regard 
to religion, and still worse indecision of 
conduct, that he for the first time heard 
the preaching of this eminent minister of 
Christ. It awakened his alreadv excited 
mind slill more deeply. He embraced 
the earliest opportunity of a personal 
interview with tlie preacher, and was soon 
after this not only established in the 
belief and practice of Christian principles, 
but prepanng, by a course of academical 
study, to urge the obligation of these 
principles also upon others. 

The influence which Newton exerted 
upon Thomas Scott, author of the " Com- 

mentary," if not absolutely decisive in 
bringing him to embrace evangelical 
views of the truth, without doubt con- 
tributed greatly to that result. It is im- 
Eossible, we thmk, to read the history of 
is religious inquiries, as related by him- 
self in his " Force of Truth," without 
being convinced that his recovery from 
Socinianism was efiected, humanly speak- 
ing, by the prayers, the example, and the 
instructions of Newton. In making this 
remark, we are merely assenting to the 
declared opinion of Scott himself. He 
was accustomed to speak of Newton 
and feel towards him as his spiritual 
father. ^ 

Here, then, is another well-ascertained 
instance of conversion, to be placed 
among the fruits of the labours of that 
humble woman, whose influence upqn 
the world we are considering. But think 
of it as the conversion of such a man'^ 
Let the reader think of him as an inde- 
fatigable minister of Christ, during the 
greater portion of a life extended to the 
term of more than sixty years, and, for a 
considerable part of this time, preacher 
to a large congregation in the metropolis 
of England, — as the active promoter of 
every feasible scheme for the advance- 
ment of the temporal and spiritual inter- 
ests of men ; and, be it specially noted, 
regarding as feasible what more timid 
spirits would shrink from as rashness, 
and even madness itself, — as the author 
of a commentary on the Scriptures, 
almost unequalled in the excellence of its 
practical tendency, and absolutely un- 
equalled in the extent of its circulation, 
— as the author, too, of numerous pub- 
lished writings, always pervaded by a 
rich vein of good sense and sound piety, 
and sometimes characterized by mas- 
culine energy, and even originality of 
thought. Let the reader think of him, 
also, in his more private relations, moving 
in a sphere which enabled him to diffuse 
far and wide the influence of a most 
devoted life, and the head of a family, 
with which great numbers were at differ- 
ent times connected, and of which no 
one, his biographer informs us, could be 
long a member without imbibing his 
spirit and giving hopeful evidence of 
piety. Let the reader, we say, call to 
mind such an outline of the history of 
Scott, and he may then form some, 
though still very inadequate, idea of his 
serviceableness to the church and the 
world. All these benefits, then, are to 
be set down as remote consequences of 



the fidelity witli which the mother of 
Newton discharged her duty to her son. 

The intimacy which existed between 
Newton and Cowper should not he passed 
over in this connexion. Tlie religious 
principles of the poet were undoubtedly 
lixed before he made the acquaintance of 
hia clerical friend. Stil], the influence 
exerted upon him from this source was 
of the most salutary kind. It was the 
means of cherishing and maturing his 
piety, and of giving it a depth and fer- 
vour which it might not have acquired 
in any other way. The decidedly evan- 
gelical cast which stamps the poetry of 
Cowper with so precious a value in the 
estimation of the Christian reader, might 
have been, we will not say, wholly want- 
ing, but certainly much less marked than 
it is, had it not been for the prayers, the 
letters, and the heavenly counsels of 
Newton. At any rate, it is well known 
that many of the finest religious hymns 
in the language, which express the feel- 
ings of the pious heart with unrivalled 
beauty as well as truth, and which are 
beyond price, as useful aids to devotion, 
owe their origin altogether to the con- 
nexion of which we are speaking. In 
short, it is not too much to say, that if 
the productions of Cowper have any 
value — if they are precious, as evincing 
the compatibility of eminent genius and 
devotion — if they may be appealed to 
with honest pride by tlie believer, as an 
illustration of the sentiment, that 

** Piety has found 
Friends in the friends of science; and true prayer 
Has flow'd from lips wet with Castalian dews," — 

if the poems of Cowper possess these and 
similar merits, it is not too much to 
assert, we think, that we are indebted for 
the invaluable treasure quite as much to 
the curate as we are to the poet of Olney. 
Let this fact, then, be taken into account, 
in estimating the extent of maternal 
influence in the case to which we are 

We will now turn to another of those 
streams of moral influence which, in all 
probability, have emanated from Newton. 
There is good reason for believing that 
the prayers of this holy man were the 
means of converting the late illustrious 
Wilberforce. It is chiefly upon the 
authority of a passage contained in a 
sermon, preached in the native place of 
Wilberforce, on occasion of his death, 
that we rest the statement that the con- 
yenion of this distinguished orator and 

Christian was owing, under God, to the 
instrumentality of Newton. 

It is the following : — ** At twelve years 
of age, Wilberforce attended a school in 
the neighbourhood of London, residing' 
with a pious uncle and aunt; the latter 
of whom, on some occasion, introduced 
him to the notice of the beloved and 
venerable John Newton. When, nearly 
fifteen years after, altered views and 
revived impressions led him again to seek 
the acquaintance of that excellent man, 
Mr. Newton surprised and affected him 
much, by telling him, that f)*om the time 
of the early introduction just alluded to, 
he had not failed constantly to pray for 

This is certainly a remarkable incident. 
We know of nothing in the circumstances 
of the acquaintance wbich should have 
awakened such an interest for a child 
seen but a few moments, and afterwards 
not heard of, perhaps, for many years ; 
and can account for the fact that such an 
interest was awakened, only by refer- 
ring it to the special agency of the Holy 
Spirit ; and if so, who can resist the con- 
viction that the design in all this was to 
prepare the way for at length bringing 
into the kingdom of Christ the youth for 
whom such incessant prayer was ofiered ? 
And then, still further, who can believe 
that a man of the apostolic faith of 
Newton would be suffered to urge a 
specific request at the throne of mercy, 
for so many years, without being heard 
and accepted? Even this view of the 
case would be satisfactory. 

In view of these statements, it will not 
be thought unwarranted, we trust, to 
consider Newton as having been, in the 
hands of God, the chief instrument of the 
conversion of Wilberforce. And what 
event, it is almost needless to ask, has 
occurred for centuries, fraught with con- 
sequences of greater magnitude to the 
interests of mankind? When has the 
individual lived who has exercised a more 
decided influence on the destinies of the 
world ? Who, since the days of the gifted 
Paul, has consecrated nobler powers to 
the cause of his Redeemer, and left more 
monuments of the energy of his talents, 
and the disinterestedness of his zeal? 
His work on " Practical Religion" alone 
has probably conferred greater benefits 
on the age than all the labours of almost 
any other man now living. His efforts 
for the abolition of the slave-trade place 
him, by universal consent, among the 
most distinguished benefactors of his 



race. And how mucli the henevolent 
institutions of England, owe to the cha- 
rities of his princely fortune, and the 
appeals of his glowing eloquence, every- 
body luiowff who has been at all con* 
versant with the religious proceedings of 
that country for the last fifty years. 

By the perusal of Mr. Wilberforce's 
work on "Practical Christianity," the 
rev. Legh Richmond was also brought to 
acknowledge the truth. 

We need not speak at length of the 
character and services of the man who 
was thus converted. The church can 
display few names of brighter lustre than 
the name of Richmond. It would have 
stood high even upon the records of the 
apostolic age itself. He would have 
endeared himself to the hearts of the 
pious for ever, had. he done nothing more 
than to write ** The Dairyman's Daugh- 
ter," " The Negro Servant/' and " The 
Young Cottager." What multitudes, 
even during the brief period that they 
have been in circulatiop, have these 
" simple annals of the poor" made wise 
and rich unto eternal life I To the sum, 
therefore, which has been already com- 
puted, of the advantages resulting to the 
world from the influence of Mrs. Newton, 
we must add still further all the bene- 
ficial results of the lives of Wilberforce 
and Richmond. 

It is unnecessary to extend our illus- 
trations at greater length. Those that 
have been given, if not the most striking 
which a more extensive acquaintance 
with biography, and a closer insight into 
the connexion of events would have fur- 
^ished, are still sufficient, we think, to 
sustaip the remark, that this woman, of 
irhom we have been speaking, has left as 
deep visible traces of her existence upon 
the face of human afl!airs as almost any 
uninspired person that has yet appeared 
in our world. Is it not so? Suppose, 
then, that all which she has done for our 
race were at this moment undone ; sup- 
pose that every particle of the moral 
influence created Dy her. having lived, 
and which has entered by so many forms 
of diffusion into the piety of the age, were 
at this moment annihilated, what con- 
sequences of disaster in heaven and on 
earth would ensue 1 

We would commend the consideration 
of this case to all parents, indeed, but 
especially to Christian mothers. Let 
them remember that it is their hand 
which fixes the impress of character, not 
only upon their own children, but in a 

greater or less degree upon all whom 
they in their turn shall influence. What 
a thought ! How full at once of admoni- 
tion and encouragement ! How does it 
become them, in view of it, both to 
tremble and rejoice I — Abridged from the 
American Parlour Magazine. 


" Now I hftve prepared with all my might for the 

house of my God marbie in abundance," 

1 Chron. xxix. 2. 

" When limestone is formed of fine 
white hard grains, not unlike loaf sugar 
in appearance, and is capable of receiving 
a very high polish, it is properly called 
marble (Heb., Sis)." There are a variety 
of colours of common marble — black, 
black -and white, yellow, red and white, 
etc. In the northern portion of the 
island of Naxos, in the iEgean Sea, was 
a species of marble called by the Greek, 
ophiteSf on account of its being spotted 
like the skin of a serpent. The marble 
procured from Paros was highly esteemed 
by the ancients for statues, as that from 
Carrara, in Italy, is by the moderns. 
The mountain of Cupreseo (Marpesus) 
abounded in white marble. Pliny says, 
the quarries were so deep that in the 
purest atmospheres they were obliged to 
use lamps, hence it was called lychnites. 

Marble is found in many countries, 
and has been of importance in all ages. 
The ancient cities of Greece, Athens, 
Ephesus, and Corinth bad their temples 
and sculptures of marble. The temple 
of Diana, at Ephesus, was 425 Roman 
feet long, 220 broad, and supported by 
127 columns of marbie, 60 feet high, 
27 of which were beautifully carved. 
But all have been swept away, except a 
few ruins, which tell that such magnifi- 
cence once existed. 

Limestone is very general in the moun- 
tains of Syria, as well as of Asia Minor* 
Dr. Kitto informs us, that the species of 
stone which is found in the great central 
ridges of Syria, is, for the most part, a 
hard limestone, disposed in strata. The 
hills about Jerusalem are of a bard, light- 
coloured limestone^ Ulfef that of Lebanon ^ 
while the rock whic(i^i^ej:vades the valley 
of the Jordan and its Take«i jsof a texture 
much less compact, and becomes grayish 
and loose as one approaches the Dead 



Sea. Though the formation of the caves 
is more generally ascribed to the action 
of water, or to some violent convulsion of 
the earth, it is by no means improbable 
that some of those referred to in the 
Scriptures were formed by the excavation 
of stone for building purposes. "Pro- 
bably the cliff Ziz (2 Chron. xz. 16) was 
BO called from being a marble eras ; the 
place was afterwards called Petra. The 
variety of stones mentioned in the de- 
scription of the pavement of " the court 
of tne garden of the palace" of Ahasu- 
erus must have been marble of different 
colours. The ancients sometimes made 
very beautiful pavements, wherein were 
set very valuable stones. Seneca and 
Apuleius even mention pavements of 
gems and precious stones. In the syna- 
gogue at Leghorn^ the place of the ark is 
lined with variegated marble; the door 
veiled with a curtain of black velvet, 
flowered with silver, and having a motto 
from the Psalms. The reading-desk is 
also of marble ; the velvet cloth, bearing 
the motto, ** The law of the Lord is per- 
fect, converting the soul."* The door 
of the Temple of Bacchus was of marble. 
Vessels of marble were among the lux- 
uries of Babylon, Rev. xviii. 12 ; and its 
beauty and durability are referred to 
in Cant. v. 15. 

Many of the eastern houses displayed 
unrivalled magnificence and splendour; 
and marble was used for the columns, 
walls, and pavements of the mosques. 
The great feast of Ahasuerus was held in 
the court of the garden of the king's 
palace, which was surrounded by marble 
pillars, supporting splendid curtains of 
various colours, hanging from silver rings 
by cords of fine linen. The beds, or 
couches, on which the guests lay at the 
feast, according to the eastern customs, 
were of gold and silver, and stood upon a 
pavement' " of red, and blue, and white, 
and black, marble," Esther i. 5, 6. This 
pavement seems to have been of the kind 
of work called Mosaic, in which small 
pieces of marble, of n^any different 
colours, are arranged and fixed with some 
kind of plaster, in such a manner as to 
represent any intended object or figure. 
"From the porch, or gateway," says 
Perkins, ** we are received into the court 
or quadrangle, which, lying open to the 
weather, is paved with marble, or such 
materials as will immediately carry off 
the water." f The court of the governor's 

• •' Narrative of Mission to the Jews. 
i Bee Peikina't " Besidence in Persia." 

house at Damascus was "paved with 
coloured marbles, cooled by refreshing 
fountains, and shadowed by citron and 
orange- trees."* In general, in Cairo, 
there is oh the ground- floor an apartment 
in which males are received. A small 
part of the floor, extending from the door 
to the opposite side of the room, is six or 
seven inches lower than the rest : in a 
handsome house, this part is paved with 
white and black marble, and little pieces 
of red tile, inlaid in beautiful pat- 

Marble was among the materials pre- 
pared by David for the temple; and 
doubtless the walls of the temple, as well 
as of Solomon's palace, were built of large 
blocks of this, highly polished. Indeed, 
we read that the foundations were "costly 
stones" — that the walls were built with 
costly stones, " even from the foundation 
to the coping ; " and the Scripture says, 
they were " hewed stones, sawed with 
saws." Josephus says, that the walls of 
the palace were wainscoted with sawn 
stones, or slabs of great value, such as 
are dug out of the earth for the ornaments 
of temples, or to make fine prospects in 
royal palaces; and so beautiful and 
curious are they as to make the mines, 
whence they are dug, famous." X Stones 
are now found in the ruins of ancient 
cities, as of Baalbec and Palmyra, corre- 
sponding exactly in size to those of 
Solomon's palace. Marble may likewise 
have been used in other parts of the 

The height of earthly grandeur and 
glory to which Solomon attained has 
never been, and never will be, exceeded, 
or even equalled ; yet of that, as of all 
other kindred objects to which he gave 
himself, he says, not only that they are 
vanity, but that they are "vanity of 
vanities." The temple is no more ! But 
Jesus, our great High Priest, 

— " Within no walls confined, 
Inhabiteth tlie humble mind ;" 

and all who worship him in spirit and in 
truth are accepted of him: so that we 
must look upon the temple and its gor- 
geous array as we look at the vestments 
and pageantry, the altar and sacrifices of 
the Jewish ritual — as shadows of good 
things then to come, and not to be desired 
or imitated under the new and better dis^ 
pensation of the gospel. H. Hi 

* Buckingham's « Arab Tribes." 
1 Lane's ** Modern Egyptians;" 
} Book Yiii., ch. 5. 




The course of his day (at Claremont) 
was this. He was not an early riser, it 
being his habit to write and to do a good 
deal of his business at night, and so to go 
to bed late. He breakfasted with his 
whole family, about ten or eleven. He 
then read his letters or the newspapers 
till about one, when he received visitors, 
of whom, both French and English, there 
was a pretty constant succession, and 
with whom he conversed upon all subjects 
with a fluency and propriety of diction 
and a copiousness of information, and, 
above all, with an unreserve and a frank- 
ness that surprised those who were not 
already intimate with him; and when 
the subject happened to be peculiarly 
important or excitiog, would occasionally 
astonisK even those who were. 

• • • • « 

After some hours thus employed in 
receiving visits or in business, he took, 
in due weather, a walk — frequently along 
one — with the queen ; and almost in all 
weathers a drive, with her majesty and 
one of her ladies, ordinarily in an equi- 
page only remarkable for its plainness. 
Amongst the first remittances of property 
that he received from France, was one of 
his handsome carriages; but that was 
seldom used. At half-past six dinner 
was served — in the first days, like all the 
rest of his domestic establishment — with 
"extreme frugality;" subsequently it 
was like a good country gentleman's 
table — plenty of plain good things, but 
no ostentation or profusion. 

All his children and grandchildren, 
even the very youngest, dined at the 
same time and table with him. He had 
something particularly " fatherly" in his 
character, and was never so happy as 
when he had his children about him. . It 
was something new to a visitor's eye to 
see all these children, two or three of 
them almost infants, sitting at table, in- 
termixed with the elder members of tlie 
royal family, the ladies -and gentlemen 
in waiting, and a few English and many 
French occasional guests. The king (whe- 
ther from an early imitation of English 
manners we know not) always carved (as 
he used to do at the Tuileries), and 
seemed to take a kind of good-humoured 
pride in the dexterity and attention with 
which he helped everybody all round the 
table. He himself was moderate, though 
not abstemious, both in eating and drink- 
ing; and immediately at the end of the 

dessert all rose from table at a movement 
by the queen, and followed their majesties 
into the saloon. When there, cofiTee was 
immediately served, and afterwards a 
tea-table. This was the joyous hour for 
the children. One of the elder princes 
would amuse them with some new toy — 
a magic lantern, a lottery, or some gene- 
ral game—- *or they would riot about the 
room, and escalade and storm the king's 
chair, as if it were a breach in a fortress. 
This seemed to delight the king. The 
queen, the princesses, and the ladies 
worked at a round table. The king 
generally sat in another part of the room, 
and either read the newspapers, or con- 
versed especially with any visitor. If, 
amidst the vast variety of his conversa- 
tion, a doubt should happen to occur on 
any topic, he would appeal to the excel- 
lent memory and judgment of the queen, 
on which he seemed to place the most 
entire reliance, or to such one of the 
princes as he thought likely to be best 
acquainted with the topic m hand,—- to 
the duke de Nemours on general subjects 
of policy, — to the duke d'Aumale on 
points of antiquity, or literature, or of 
Africa, — to the prince de Joinville on 
novel or mechanical matters, or places 
that he had happened to see,-— and so on. 
He seemed to take a pleasure in bringing 
forwards the special accomplishments of 
each, and they in general answered his 
appeals with an intelligence and accuracy 
that justified his paternal pride, whicli 
was evidently one of his strongest feel- 
ings.— Qttar^«r/y Review » 


There are few of the passages in our 
Lord's ministry which present, in a more 
striking light, the compassionate spirit 
with whicn he laboured for the allevia*- 
tion of man's bodily and spiritual ailments 
than his cure of the leper, as recorded in 
the eighth chapter of St. Matthew's 
Gospel. When he descended from the 
mount, on which he had been delivering 
the longest, and perhaps the most im- 

Eortant, of all the discourses addressed to 
is followers, a multitude, we are in- 
formed, followed him. Amidst the gather- 
ing throng, one form, of more than usual 
ghastliness, is seen approaching. His 
face is covered with scales, his body is 
wasted and decayed. As he advances^ 
we may almost imagine that we see the 
crowding spectators retire, afraid of con- 



tagion. The Saviour, however, does not 
withdraw. Even for this poor outcast 
there is sympathy ready to flow. Scarcely 
has the unhappy sufferer east himself on 
the ground in supplication, and the words, 
** Lord, if thou wilt, thou canst make me 
clean,'* escaped bis lips, than the gracious 
reply goes forth, — "I will; be thou 
clean," and immediately health blooms 
on the cheek and mantles in the veins of 
the leper. 

In England, and indeed throughout 
Europe, the associations connected with 
the above and other displays of Christ's 
power in cleansing leprosy, are oi a vague 
and general character, the disease being 
one with which we have now no familiar 
acquaintance. In the pages of a French 
periodical, however, which lies before us, 
we are reminded that this was not always 
the case. During the middle ages, and 
more particularly at the time of the 
Crusades, this fearful disorder was im- 
ported from the east, and proved in 
France a fertile source of terror to the 
inhabitants. Selecting its victims from 
ail classes of the population, it spared 
neither peer nor peasant ;-*>monarchs 
themselves even fell victims to it. Estab- 
lishments had to be opened for the recep- 
tion of leprous members of royal families ; 
and one existed in Dauphiny expressly 
for the use of persons of noble birth. An 
institution of somewhat the same kind 
was erected at one time in London, on 
the site, it is believed, or nearly so, of 
the modem palace of St. James. 

According to Matthew Paris, a chro- 
nicler of the middle ages, there existed in 
Europe, during the thirteenth century, 
nearly twenty thousand lepers-houses and 
lazarettoes, for the reception of those who 
were afflicted with this dreadful disorder. 
In France alone, according to a state- 
ment in the will of king Louis the Young, 
the number of these receptacles reached 
at one time to two thousand. On the 
domains of a feudal lord at Aisne, there 
were ten establishments of this nature, 
supported by the contr&utions of families, 
each of whom had some members im- 
mured within their walls. These calcu- 
lations give us an affecting picture of the 
desolations which this dire malady must 
have inflicted on many a household. 

The superstition of the period added, 
by its ffloomy ceremonies, to the terror 
which we approach of this dreaded dis- 
order inspired. When an individual had 
been pronounced in a state of contagion, 
he was led to a neighbouring church, 

where the service for the dead was per- 
formed over him. He was then con- 
ducted to the leper-bouse, to be consigned 
to a living tomb. Arrived at the gates of 
this gloomy mansion, he was stripped of 
the dress which he had hitherto worn 
and arrayed in a funeral garb. He was 
warned to bid farewell to the world, and 
exhorted to look beyond its chequered 
scenes, to the bliss which awaited the 
faithful in heaven, where no leprosy, no 
impurity, no tears, no pain, no separation 
could find access. The exhortation ended 
by a staff being placed in his hands, with 
which he was to ward off any from 
coming in contact with his person. The 
gates then received their inmate, — and 
another victim was consigned to a living 

Sometimes it happened that hatural 
affection gained the mastery over the 
fears of contagion, and the sweets of 
social life. Dreadful as was the prospect 
of perpetual immurement within the pre- 
cincts of a lazaretto, surrounded by all 
that was loathsome, such a fate was occa- 
sionally preferred by a fond wife to sepa^ 
ration from a beloved husband. An 
instance of this kind is recorded as having 
once occurred at the town of Tours. In 
the month of May, 1329, a young man, 
afflicted by the leprosy, had had the 
ceremonies we have referred to performed 
over him. The priest had recited the 
accustomed formulary, prohibiting him 
from walking about, unless attired in the 
lazar's garment, — forbidding him to place 
his naked foot on the ground, to mix in 
the assembly of men, to enter crowded 
streets or churches, or to wash himself in 
the waters of any fountain or river. In 
another moment the gates of the lazar- 
house were about to close upon an exile 
from the sweets of social life. At that 
instant, however, the wife of the leper 
stepped forward, and refused to leave her 
husband. << If I quit him," she said, 
" who will love bun ? — who will minister 
to his wants ? — who will help to console 
him ? Do you say I will myself become 
a leper ? God, if it be his will, can pre- 
serve me. Did he not cure Job and 
Naaman ? — and may he not, in answer to 
my prayers, restore my husband to 
health ? Be the issue what it may, how- 
ever, I will not abandon him, without 
whom the world would be to me a 
desert!" Many such scenes, doubtless, 
occurred. They will bring, perhaps, to 
the reader's recollection the touching 
incident of the self-denying Moravian 



missionaries, who, under circumstances 
of a somewhat analogous character, en- 
tered the lazar-house in Africa, and 
devoted themselves, out of love to the 
souls of its unhappy io mates, to a per- 
petual estrangement from all the comforts 
of social existence. 

The lepers in France, however, did not 
always inspire sympathy. It is a cha- 
racteristic of the natural heart, that while 
unsoftened by the gospel, it is apt, in 
seasons of wide>spread calamity, to be- 
come steeled to the miseries of others 
from selfish anxiety for its own safety. 
The alarming spread of leprosy in France 
awoke at one time the superstitious fears 
of the multitude, and led to excesses of a 
deplorable character. In the reign of 
Philip v., a rumour spread among the 
lower orders, that the lepers had entered 
into a conspiracy to infect others with 
their dreaded disorder, by polluting the 
public wells and fountains. These reports 
were greedily believed ; and the credulous 
monarch countenanced them, by issuing 
an ordonnance to the judges to exercise 
summary vengeance on aU lepers whom 
they suspected of such practices. Several 
of these unhappy objects, althotigh per- 
sons of distinction, were put to the tor* 
ture, and burned over a slow fire at 
Parthenay. In other parts of the coun- 
try a large multitude perished in the 
flames, kindled by the groundless alarms 
of an ignorant populace. 

After the fourteenth century, the num- 
ber of lepers in France gradually dimi- 
nished. The massacres to which we have 
adverted greatly thinned their ranks. Ab 
the intercourse with the east, occasioned 
by the Crusades, ceased, fresh sources of 
contagion were avoided. The advancing 
civilization of the times also, greater 
attention to food, and, above all, the more 
extended use of linen as an article of 
clothing, arrested, and, under the good 
providence of God, Anally extirpated the 
disorder. The gloomy remains of old 
lazar-houses, in several parts of the coun- 
try, still, however, recall to memory the 
existence of this once formidable disease, 
and serve as a tide-post to mark the 
advances in social comfort with which our 
own age has been favoured, and the cor- 
responding obligations imposed upon us, 
of gratitude to God for his distinguishing 
and undeserved mercies : — " Bless the 
Lord, O my soul ; and all that is within 
me, bless his holy name. Bless the Lord, 
O my soul, and forget not all his benefits,'' 
Psa. cui. 1, 2. E. V. 


TuouoH there would be, perhaps, a 
difficulty in decidinff whether, in encou- 
raging what is rignt, or in reproving 
what is wrong, we are the more profitably 
employed, there can be no question about 
the former being the more agreeable 
occupation. In taking up my pen gently 
to reprove an error on the part of my 
fair friends, my remarks should fall as 
lightly as thistle down, if thereby my 
object of bringing about an amendment 
would be likely to be obtained; but as I 
fear my observations, if they had no 
piquancy, would be disregarded, I am 
induced, somewhat unwillingly, to impart 
to them a little more pungency. 

There is among the numberless excel- 
lent qualities of the sex, a want of 
thoughtfulness and consideration in many 
things that is quite at issue with the 
general kindness of their hearts. Did 
this want of thought manifest itself only 
at long intervals, it might be of little 
consequence ; but when it becomes a 
common practice, and mingles with the 
every-day affairs of life, it is time that 
some effort should be made to correct it. 
I am not about to pursue the subject of 
want of thought in all its bearings, but 
only to dwell on a few |>articulars ; in 
doing which I trust my fair friends will 
bear with my friendly remonstrance. 

The practice of writing illegibly pro- 
ceeds from want of consideration, for no 
one would willingly be misunderstood. 
That this inconvenient practice prevails 
among the sex, will hardly be called in 
question. • I have a correspondent, and a 
talented and much- valued one too, whose 
hand-writing is so peculiar, that to read 
it is altogether out of the question. AU 
that can be done on the receival of a 
letter from her is, boldly to guess at the 
meaning of the unintelligible hierogly- 
phics, assisted by such words as may 
happen to be intelligible; so that the 
deciphering of one of her epistles is no 
more nor less than taking the sum of its 
probabilities. A facetious friend, the 
other day, made the remark, that, con- 
trasted with one of these epistles, the 
shadowy mysteries of the ancient Sphinx 
were luminous; this language of his 
may be somewhat hyperbolical ; yet may 
I truly say, that the last letter of my 
respected correspondent still remains in 
part unread, being hermetically sealed, 
not with wax or wafer, but by the much 



more secure guardianship of its own 
inaccessible intelligibility. 

Not ten minutes ago, came an epistle 
from one of superior understanding, who 
is struggling, and struggling bravely, to 
win her way by imparting instruction to 
the young. Greatly desiring to know of 
her welfare, and of the state of her meal- 
barrel and cruse of oil, I have been try- 
ing to read her letter, but, alas! the 
words meant to convey to me the in- 
formation I wished to acquire, are so 
very questionable, that I am still left in 
doubt and uncertainty. The working of 
this want of consideration in writing 
illegibly in the common affairs of life is 
sad. If the sentiments expressed in a 
letter are good, and the information given 
is Important, it is to be regretted that 
there should be any impediment in com- 
prehending tliem ; and if, on the other 
iiand, they are trifling and worthless, it 
it rather too bad to pnzsle, uselessly, the 
brains of the reader. These are, how- 
ever, among the least vexatious conse- 
quences of Illegible writing. 

If a lady writes for information re- 
specting a servant she is about to engage, 
who has referred her to me for a charac- 
ter, it is a sad trouble to me if I cannot 
tell whether to address my reply to Mrs. 
Hopkins, of Rupert-street, or Mrs. Hos- 
kins, of Robert-street; but a much greater 
trouble it is, after having written to both 
these addresses, to have another more 
legible communication from the same 
ladv : ** Mrs. Hawkes, of Regent-street, 
with her compliments to Mr. Humphrey, 
begs to inform him that, in consequence 
of not hearing irom him, she has engaged 
another servant." 

One of the many useful rules to be 
observed by those who copy for the press 
is this, to write all proper names, tech- 
nical words, and words m a foreign lan- 
guage, lawyer fashion ; that is, so dis- 
tinctly that no printer can possibly 
mistake one letter for another. A 
month's practice in writing for the press 
would be of incalculable advantage to 
many agreeable persons of my acquaint- 

The want of thought in withholding 
necessary information, and the habit of 
sending letters without the address of the 
writer, is another error, on which I will 
venture a few remarks. 

A letter is delivered to me by the post- 
man, at nine in the morning, from a 
country cousin, residing in a village in 
the neighbourhood of Bath. It commu- 

nicates the intelligence that she hopes to 
arrive in London on that day, on a visit 
to a friend, and requests me to be sure to 
meet her at the railroad terminus; but 
mentions neither the station, the time of 
her departure, nor the hour of her arrival. 
Taking it for granted that she will come 
from Bath, and by the first train, I hurry 
oflf at ten o'clock, by cab, to Paddington, 
a distance of about five statute miles from 
my abode; where, owing to the late 
arrival of the train, I am detained from 
eleven o'clock till near twelve. My 
cousin does not come. There being no 
other train due till ten minutes past one, 
I look about me for a time, and then seat 
myself m the waiting-room. The train 
duly arrives, but brings no cousin of 
mine. Having an appointment at five 
o'clock, I am not enabled to be at the 
station then, though a train will arrive 
there; but I fail not to meet the train 
due at forty minutes past six, and at a 
quarter-past eight; yet am I as unsuc- 
cessful as before. Nearly the whole of 
the day has been lost. The next morn- 
ing brings me a letter from my cousin, 
bearing the Notting-hill post-mark, tell- 
ing me, that never in her life had she 
been so much disappointed ; for that 
when she arrived at the Paddington Sta- 
tion, at five o'clock, the evening before, 
there was no one to meet her. She 
really thought that she might have de- 
pended on me, and regrets to find that I 
had considered it too much trouble to 
render her the slight service of coming a 
mile or two to meet her on her arrival. 
By way of postscript, she requires a line 
by return of post, to inform her at what 
hour that afternoon I will call upon her, 
to take her to the Colosseum, and on no 
account whatever to disappoint her. 

With no small anxiety to relieve myself 
from the charge of neglect, and desirous 
to show that a little thoughtfulness, on 
the part of my cousin, would have pre- 
vented our mutual discomfort, I snatch 
up my pen to explain, using the utmost 
dispatch, that the servant, about to leave 
the house, may post the letter, and that 
my cousin may not again be disap- 
pointed. My letter written, I hastily 
enclose it in an envelope, and purpose to 
direct it, referring to my cousin's note 
for her address, when, to my extreme 
consternation, I find that she has thought- 
lessly omitted to give it me; the only 
address in her note is, <* Friday morning." 
What is to be done ? I know no more 
where to find her than I do the missing 



planet. True it is, that a month a^o she 
mentioned in a letter her intention of 
visiting a friend at Notting-hill ; but 
where that letter is, I cannot tell. No 
doubt it is safely put by ; but then I have 
five hundred letters put by, and know 
not where to look for it at the moment. 
I examine my pocketbook, my writing- 
desk, and the packets on my study table, 
but in vain. The servant is not enabled 
to post my letter, and I am compelled to 
sit me down with the unenviable certainty 
of receiving another accusatory letter 
from my cousin. 

Twenty times have I been placed in 
somewhat the same difficulties. Now, 
ought these things to be allowed, when 
they might so easily be avoided? A 
little thoughtful consideration, and a few 
strokes of the pen would have prevented 
the disappointment of my cousin, and 
have spared me the mortification of being 
unjustly accused of unkindness. Do, my 
fair friends, add to your other good qua- 
lities that of consideration. Impart what 
intelligence is necessary, and when you 
write a letter, or note, never omit your 

A third error on which I would gently 
expostulate is, the in consideration of 
taking up the time of others thought- 
lessly. I have a good friend, worth, as 
the saying is, her weight in gold ; and to 
give her pleasure is adding to my own, 
for nothing can exceed her kindness, but 
her want of consideration. Attentive, 
however, as she is to me, it is a for- 
midable thing to become her guest ; for 
if a consultation is to be held, a plan to 
be drawn out, or a passage in a book to 
be found, she is sure to apply to me, and 
the reason assigned is, " Mr. Humphrey 
is so ready." Is an attempt to be made 
to get a boy into Christ's Hospital, or a 
young woman into the Blind Asylum ; or 
is a poor cottager to be visited, whatever 
may be the distance — the case is at once 
handed over to me. " Mr. Humphrey is 
so kind." And is a packet of family 
papers to be looked over, a book of prints 
to be carefully examined, or a dozen 
stanzas to be written on the birthday of 
one of her acquaintance ; again I am in 
requisition. "No one will do it so well 
as Mr. Humphrey ; he is so clever." In 
this way, because 1 have credit with her 
for being ready, kind, and clever, she 
would occupy the whole of my waking 
hours. The good friend of whom I speak 
is not a solitary example ; she is one only 
of a class, and that class is by no means 

a circumscribed one. Few things are 
more agreeable than to be able to show 
attentions to those we respect; but a 
little consideration should be exercised in 
requiring these attentions. There are 
seasons with most of us when even mo- 
ments can ill be spared; and it should 
never be forgotten that scraps of time, 
frequently demanded, soon amount to 
important periods. Even the taking 
away of our attention, for a few minutes, 
from the pursuit that occupies us, will 
sometimes occasion us the loss uf hours. 

This want of consideration in occupy- 
ing the time of others thoughtlessly, or 
unreasonably, shows itself in different 
ways ; one singular instance of this I will 
here give. A lady of my acquaintance 
greatly neutralizes her many excellent 
qualifications by a habit of extracting 
from the remarks of those around her, 
opportunities of contributing to her own 
advantage ; in doing this, she is not at 
all aware of the incessant penalties she 
imposes on her friends. For my own 
part, I am especially careful to lay my 
finger on my lips when in her presence, 
lest unadvisedly I should get entangled 
with a multiplicity of unenviable under- 
takings. Let us imagine our fair friend 
in a party, when a gentleman remarks 
that he has just received a copy of the 
" Rugby Prize Poem." She immediately 
expresses her desire that he would oblige 
her by writing it out for her, being ex- 
ceedingly fond of poetry. Of eourse thia 
is assented to. Another gentleman un- 
wittingly states his intention to a young 
lady present, to drive her to see the India 
Overland Diorama. Our fair friend 
directly observes, it will be a great favour 
if she may be permitted to accompany 
them ; that is, if he will not consider it 
too much trouble to drive round for her. 
The gentleman, with visible reluctance, 
stammers out something about his being 
happy to do so ; and when a third gen- 
tleman alludes to his trip to Brighton on 
the following day, she inquhres whether 
she might take the liberty of asking him 
to deliver a small packet to a friend of 
hers, who lives very little more than half 
a mile from the terminus. 

As the most circumspect are now and 
then off their guard, so the kindest are at 
times unintentionally cruel by their in- 
considerate demands on the time of 
others. I hope, then, that my present 
friendly remonstrance will neither be con« 
sidered unreasonable nor uncalled for. 
Hardly should I like to be outdone by 



any one in courtesy and kindhearteduess ; 
but if. as fellow'piigrims, we do not point 
out each other's failings, what probability 
is there of their being corrected ? How 
gladly, instead of censuring my fair 
friends, would I scatter roses in their 
earthly paths, and help them on their 
way to heaven ! 

Believing, as I do, that thoughtless- 
ness, or inconsideration, is one of the 
commonest failings of humanity, and that 
it occasions at least one half of the trou- 
bles we bring on each other, I am anxious 
to impress on my own heart and on the 
hearts of others, this self-evident but 
sadly neglected truth. There are other 
people in the world besides ourselves, and 
unless we consider their convenience, 
comfort, and pleasures, we cannot rea- 
sonably expect them to consider ours. If 
we do not act under this impression, we 
may go on unintentionally trespassing 
on those wc respect, and afflicting those 
we love all the days of our lives. 

I cannot but hope, that as these re- 
marks are made in a friendly spirit, they 
will be received considerately and kindly. 
With heaven in prospect, and the word 
of God in our hands, we ought to have 
much of love and forbearance in our 
hearts, reproving, helping, and encou- 
raging one another. 


When a death occurs, immediate inti- 
mation of it must be given at the mayor's 
office, lest the circumstances should 
require investigation on the part of the 
authorities ; and in no case may the 
funeral take place before twenty-four 
hours have elapsed, nor can it be post- 
poned longer if the deceased had been 
deprived of life by contagious or infec- 
tious disease; the ordinary time, how- 
ever, is forty- eight hours. 

In the higher classes of the community, 
and in towns where the attendance of a 
priest can be always obtained, the rela- 
tives abandon the dead body, and consign 
the duty of watching to him; and he sits 
up with it until the hour of interment, 
alone, or in company with a deacon, 
reciting prayers and offices, while a taper 
continuallv burns at the side of the 
corpse. In retired places, the friends of 
the deceased, among the lower orders, 
discharge this dutv somewhat in the 
maimer of the Irish wake, but with far 

more propriety ot deportment; and 
among them there is often some one 
employed in reading passages from the 
lives of the saints, or devotional books, 
approved of by the clergy. 

In genteel society, the custom is to 
send one or two circular notes to the 
acquaintances of the deceased, and all to 
whom a compliment may be designed. 
The first of these circulars is a formal 
notification of the death, age, and pedi- 
gree of the deceased, with perhaps a con- 
cluding sentence stating that he or she 
received the last rites of the church. The 
second note contains a request that the 
person to whom it is addressed will assist 
at the funeral, at the appointed hour. If 
ladies are invited, (which is very rarely 
done, and never but to the funeral of a 
female,) it is considered a mark of respect 
to appear in their pews at church during 
the service, after which they return 
home, without joining in the procession 
to the burial-ground. Black crape, tied 
round the left arm, with white gloves and 
white cravats, are the mourning distinc- 
tions with all gentlemen at funerals, who, 
as in England, wear a full suit of black 

The religious ceremonials may be con- 
sidered as divided into three classes, ac- 
cording to the station in life and the pecu- 
niary circumstances of the deceased. In 
the formalities of the first order, the entire 
of the clergy belonging to a particular 
church, or parish, and sometimes from 
different parishes, with the whole staff of 
assistants at the altar, attend the proces- 
sion ; and if there be any foundling hos- 
gital in the place, fifty or even a hundred 
oys or girls (according to the sex of the 
deceased) are sent to walk in the line of 
mourners, by the order of the superior of 
the hospital, who receives for them a 
gratuity of a franc each, fifty francs being 
the maximum of fee usually given to 
them ; but for this sum, if the superior 
wishes to offer an especial mark of 
respect, many more of these poor crea- 
tures may be sent to swell the train, and 
blazon to the world the charities of the 
defunct. Each of these young persons 
holds a lighted wax taper, five feet long, 
in the aisle of the church, between the 
coffin and the entrance-gate, which they 
have borne in their hands, unlighted, 
from the house of mourning, and which 
they again carry, after extinguishing them 
in the porch on leaving the church, before 
the body, until the whole of the ceremony 
at the grave is concluded; after which 



they are returned to the undertaker, who 
charges in his general hill the value of 
the quantity of wax consumed, which he 
calculates by weighing these enormous 
wax poles, before and after they have 
heen used. 

Huge candles are presented to the 
church, also, for the altar, previously 
to the lighting up; but all those used 
around the coffin — and there are ge- 
nerally three dozen of them — are ex- 
tinguished br the undertaker, on the 
removal of the hody, and taken away to 
his shop for future occasions. In the 
second class there is less show and con- 
sequent expense ; for instance, the choir 
is not hung with black, as in the other 
case, though the mourning at the porch 
and the pall at the coffin are supplied; 
and there is either a much smaller detach- 
ment of the children sent, or there are 
none of them. In the third class there is 
no pall for the coffin, nor any other 
mourning, or avoidable embellishment; 
and therefore there is no expense which 
cannot be easily defrayed by the ordinary 
mechanics and other workmen. And for 
the actual poor there is a still lower scale 
of ceremony, one pricbt only officiating ; 
and to them there is no charge what- 

On raising the corpse from the house 
of mourning, the priest and his assistants 
chant the sentences beginning with **Re- 
quiescat in pace,** and a short suppli- 
catory prayer, — the latter being chanted 
in a low recitative by the priest alone; 
and as they proceed to the church, they 
chant the fifty- first Psalm, if the distance 
permits. On arriving there, the officiat- 
ing priest sprinkles holy water on the 
coffin, saying, " Open to me the gates of 
justice, and when I enter them I will 
confess unto the Lord ; this is the Lord's 
gate ; the just will enter into it." The 
mass or vespers, accordmg to the period 
of the day, is then performed. 

Before the removal of the body from 
the church, the priest repeats a prayer, 
in the low chanting tone, beginning 
with, " Enter not into judgment with 
thy servant, O Lord," and then the 
body is borne away in the manner usual 
with us ; an honoured friend or relative 
of the deceased preceding in some 
places and on some occasions with what 
18 called the plat dlionnenvy which is a 
large silver or pewter dish, in the centre 
of which is a kind of bougie, five or six 
inches in diameter, with the waxen cord 
coiled round and round like a cable on 

board ships. On the way to the burial- 
ground, appropriate passages from Scrip- 
ture are chanted by the clerical attend- 
ants. On reaching the grave, the cross- 
bearer places himself at the lower side, 
turning the front of the crucifix towards 
the feet of the corpse; and the priest, 
standing at the head, proceeds, after the 
fvX\ chanting of the " Lord have mercy 
upon us," (Kyrie eleisan,) and the Lord's 
prayer, in a low tone, with the remaining 
portions of the service, chanting, among 
the other parts, the 130th or the 51st 
Psalm, if neither of these had been pre- 
viously used, and then the requiem ; and 
while this is being sung, the priest 
sprinkles holy water on the coffin, and as 
it is lowered, he throws earth over it, in 
the form of the cross, saying, **Du8t 
returns to the dust, from which it pro- 
ceeded; and the spirit returns to God 
who gave it." The roll of wax is then 
(but not often) placed on the breast of 
the corpse by the bearer of the plat 
d*honneur, who passes it under the lid 
of the coffin, and then sometimes the 
whole concludes, after another sprinkling 
of holy water on the coffin. The sprig 
of yew or box, which he had used as the 
sprinkler, is passed from one to the other 
of a few of the nearest friends, who each 
successively advance to the grave, 
sprinkling the remaining drops of water 
towards the departed one — a sad and 
affecting mode of bidding the last adieus. 
When a man of official rank or highly 
respected character dies, a part of the 
national guard attends, lining the whole 
procession in the rear of the hearse, so 
that the gentlemen who compose the 
cortSge may walk two or more abreast 
between the single- files which the 
military form at each side, by which 
means the utmost regularity and order 
are effectually preserved, even if all the 
lookers on had not the sense of propriety 
and politeness which so pre-eminently 
distinguishes the French people on all 
such occasions. An oration is frequently 
delivered at the grave of a public cha- 
racter, which, alas ! like all such artificial 
compositions, is usually an eulogistic 
speech, complimenting tne deceased upon 
the diligent use he had made of the 
talents entrusted to him, and gratifying 
the vanity of the surviving members of 
his family, by reciting before the public, 
not only a multitude of good deeds — 
which, perhaps, were but imaginary, and 
as nothing when weighed in the balance 
against presumptuous sins and negli^ 


gences — ^but the worldly honours and 
distinctions that belonged to him, and 
the ancestors of him to whom the grave 
is his house, who has corruption for his 
father, and the worm for his mother and 
his sister. 

In no other particulars are tradition 
and the authority of the church more 
forcibly brought against the gospel than 
in the subject above considered, in order 
to gratify the weakness of the natural 
heart, which clings to something of 
human performances, ignorantly or 
blindly heedless of " the one Mediator 
between God and man," and trusting to 
the vain inventions of men, who, for 
obvious reasons, have always struggled 
to keep *'the keys of the kingdom of 
heaven in their own hands, and to 
unloose, from the prison-house of their 
own construction, the countless souls 
whom they profess to have the power of 
liberating, to a certain extent, on receiv- 
ing a proportional remuneration for what 
are deemed their good offices. 

M. D. 


There are two countries in Europe 
which, as it appears to us, Providence 
has set up before the eyes of the world 
to teach great lessons to mankind. In 
almost every point these two countries 
form as perfect a contrast as it is possible 
to imagine. The one is placed at nearly 
the southern extremity of the European 
continent, the other at nearly its northern 
extremity. The one is encompassed by 
calm seas, and beautified by a sky of 
balmy serenity ; a stormy ocean breaks 
on the shores of the other, and perpetual 
fogs gather in- its atmosphere. The one 
is covered with a soil of unrivalled fer- 
tility, which, from the base of the mighty 
mountain-barrier that defends it on the 
north, to the shores of the delightful 
island which joins it on the south, pre- 
sents a wide, unbroken scene of varied 
and luxuriant beauty ; the soil of the other 
is at the best but iudifierently fertile, and 
its cultivatable surface is sadly encroached 
upon by moors of vast extent, and mighty 
chains of rocky mountains. The history 
of the one country runs up into ages of 
empire and glory ; that of the other lalSds 
us, at no very remote period, amid scenes 
of subjection and barbarism. The one 
country, notwithstanding all the advan- 
tages of its position, the beauty of its 

elimate, the richnets of its sml, and the 
glorious inheritance it has received from 
the past, is at this day wretched and 
enslaved; while the other, which can 
boast of none of these advantages, is free 
and powerful. Why is this ? The true 
explanation of the secret is, that Popery 
is the religion of the one country — Pro- 
testantism is the religion of the other. 
Than Italy, it would have been impossible 
to select in Europe a country in which 
the genius of Popery could better deve- 
lope itself — ^its power to tarnish all that is 
glorious, and to overthrow all that is 
strong, llian Scotland, it would have 
been impossible to fix on a country 
where Protestantism would have had so 
much scope to display its character and 
tendency — ^its power to exalt to greatness 
the smallest nation, and enable it to over- 
come all the disadvantages of its posi- 
tion. God never leaves himself without 
a witness. We may close his word, or 
silence his preachers; still he continues 
to proclaim, by the great dispensations of 
his providence, the eternal distinctions 
between truth and error. When of old 
the world was sunk in idolatry, God 
ceased not to testify to his own existence 
and supremacy, "in that he gave rain 
from heaven, and fruitful seasons." In 
like manner, so long as Italy and Scot- 
land stand before the world, men can be 
at no loss to judge between Popery and 
Protestantism, or have any difficulty in 
determining which is fitted to draw down 
the curse, and which the blessing, of the 
great Ruler of nations. Might not our 
statesmen find this subject worthy of their 
study, and one fitted to teach them some 
of the first principles df government, and 
to throw not a little light on certain mea- 
sures believed to be in contemplation ? 
If we wish to sink ourselves to the degra- 
dation of Italy, let us cherish the religion 
of Italy I'^Edinburgh Christian Witness, 



Were men but as wise for eternity as 
they are for time, and did they spiriiOally 
improve their natural principles for their 
souls- as they do naturally for their bodies 
and estates, what precious Christians 
might men be! For instance, these are 
common maxims : 

1. To believe good news well founded. 
-—Why, then, is not the gospel believed, 
which is the best news^and best grounded 
news in the world ? 



2. To love what is lovely, and that 
moftt which is most lovely.—- Why, then, 
is not Christ the beloved of men's souls, 
seeing he is altogether lovely ? 

3. To fear that which will hurt them. 
—-Why, then, are not men afraid of sin, 
seeing nothing is so hurtful to them as 

4. Not to trust a known deceiver. — 
Why, then, do men trust Satan, the old 
serpent, the deceiver of the world?— the 
world, and its deceitful riches? — their 
own hearts, which are deceitful above all 
things ? 

5. To lay up for old age.— Why, then, 
do not men lay up for eternity treasures 
of faith and good works, against the day 
of death and judgment ? 

6. He that will eive most shall have 
most. — Why, then, do not men give their 
love and service to God? Doth not he 
bid most? 

7. Take warning by other's harms. — 
Why do not men take heed of sinning, 
from the sufieriugs and torments which 
others undergo for sinning ? 

Ah ! if men did but walk by their own 
rules, and improve by their own principles, 
what a help would it be to godliness! 
But, alas ! God may complain of us, as of 
his people of old : ** My people do not 
consider,"— Canaan '« Flowinga, 


Much was said, during the discussion 
on recent postal arrangements, as to the 
loss which would be sustained by news- 
papers, in consequence of the discontinu- 
ance of a Sunday delivery of letters, etc. 
An example of the wisdom, even in a 
temporal point of view, of observing the 
sabbath in this department of business, is 
to be found in the history of a New York 
newspaper, entitled the ** Journal of 
Commerce." Its proprietor, determining 
that nothing should be wanting for the 
success of «ie paper, employed a boat, 
well manned, to cruise in the harbour, 
for the purpose of hailing vessels as soon 
as they hove in sight, and bringing their 
news to the city with the utmost de- 
spatch. The boat, which bore the name 
of the journal, was sustained at great 
expense for several years. Her cruising 
was always suspended on the sabbath. 
By good luck, as men of the world would 
say, but rather by the blessing of Pro- 
vidence on industry and enterprise, con> 

trolled by right principle, the journal 
established a character for disnatch and 
energy which proved invaluaole. This 
was particularly noticeable with regard to 
the French Revolution of 1830, the news 
of which was brought to New York by 
its boat, published and read on the steps 
of the Exchange, before the other news- 
papers had been able to communicate 
the intelligence. 


** Inheriting," says Dr. Hanna, " the 
parental punctuality, James (the brother 
of Dr. Chalmers) carried it to an extreme 
degree. In balancing his private receipts 
and disbursements, at the close of a year, 
one penny more than he could account 
for appeared to have been spent. That 
penny cost him weeks and months of 
uneasiness, till crossing one of the Lon- 
don bridges (which lie had to do once a 
year), and on which there was a penny 
toll, he suddenly remembered that twelve 
months before he had paid a penny there 
which he had not entered in his book." 
The discovery, we are told, overjoyed 
him. Mr. Cams informs us, in his ** Life 
of Simeon," that so exact were the pecu- 
niary habits of that excellent man, that 
he once offered an accountant twenty 
pounds to discover the error of a penny 
in his books. The exact habits of Mr. 
Miller, the American merchant, recorded 
in a previous number, will also be 


During a visit of the late king of Sar- 
dinia to an obscure portion of his domi- 
nions, a shepherd, in the simplicity of his 
feelings, made the monarch a present of 
some wild goats, which tenanted a small 
island, of which he was nearly the sole 
human occupant. The king, pleased with 
the man's evident sincerity, offered, with 
royal munificence, to grant him whatever 
he wished, provided it were in his power 
and within the compass of reason. The 
fortunate shepherd, after ransacking his 
brains, came to the monarch, and stated 
that he would be quite pleased if his 
majesty would grant him a pound of 
gunpowder ! The affair ended in the king 
appointing him nominal monarch of the 
island on which he lived. 




The afternoon, from being bright and 
fine^ has become suddenly wet; omnibus 
after omnibus passes filled with passen- 
gers; the conductor scarcely deigns to 
reply to our signal of distress, but half 
grins at our shelterless condition as his 
vehicle rattles along. In looking round 
for a retreat from the pelting storm, an 
exhibition catches the eye, purporting to 
be a collection of curious mechanical 
figures^ originally designed as presents 
to the emperor of China. We joyfully 
descry in it the means of half an hour's 
profitable relaxation, and, paying a shil- 
ling at the door, find ourselves in an 
apartment filled with a variety of objects 
which, with our readers' permission, we 
shall, ere we part, describe to them. 

About sixty years ago, an embassy to 
Kien Long, the emperor of China, was 
projected by Mr. Pitt's administration, 
and accomplished with a tolerable degree 
of success, under the judicious direction 
of lord Macartney. Kien Long, an old 
man of eighty, received the ambassador 
and his suite, graciously dispensed with 
the homage of the koutou, gave many 
fair words, and sent kind returns of cour- 
tesies to the "barbarian" monarch of 
Great Britain. About twenty years after- 
wards, in the regency of George iv., a 
similar embassy was entrusted to lord 
Amherst. All went on for a time swim- 
mingly ; the hour for presentation to 
Kien Long's successor was appointed, 
when lord Amherst, feeling fatigued, 
craved, under the plea of indisposition, 
for the postponement of the ceremony 
from the evening to the morning of the 
following day. The Chinese emperor, in 
the height of his civility, sent his physi- 
cian to wait on lord Amherst, and he, 
discovering that nothing serious ailed the 
latter, reported the fact to his royal mas- 
ter. In great displeasure, the emperor 
dii>missed the embassy, refusing to see 
his lordship, and rejecting, if we mistake 
not, his presents, which were accordingly 
brought back to England. Some of the 
objects in this collection constituted, we 
are informed, a portion of these presents ; 
another part we remember to have seen 
exhibited about sixteen years ago. 

There is something extremely interest- 
ing in an exhibition of ingeniously formed 
automata. Though we should be sorry 
ourselves to lavish either time or money 
upon their construction ; — yet, when 
thoughtfully contemplated, they are not 

without some profitable suggestiveness. 
They mark, for instance, the immeasur- 
able line of demarcation which separates 
the handiwork of man from the operations 
of the Creator. To move the arm of an auto- 
maton for a few minutes, probably a hun- 
dred wheels must be employed, and the 
whole is clumsily done even then. In 
the human frame the thing is done effec- 
tively and durably by a few movements 
combining strength, grace, and simpli- 

To return to our exhibition, however, 
the first thing which struck the eye, was 
a palm tree reaching to the roof of the 
apartment. On a spring being touched, 
a golden serpent was seen gliding around 
it, followed by another in pursuit until 
they both were lost in the branches. 
This possibly would have hugely pleased 
a Chinese emperor, but it struck me as 
being little better than an expensive 
plaything for a grown-up child. Yet 
that such were the toys of Kien Long, 
the emperor of three hundred millions of 
immortal beings, may almost be inferred 
from what lord Macartney saw ; for he 
describes a room near the palace aarhaving 
been full of gimcracks.of this description. 
Whoever has been at the India-House 
Museum in London will have seen a proof 
of the fondness of oriental princes for 
automata in the old musical tiger, growl- 
ing over the dead body of an English 
soldier, which formed Tippoo Saib's spe- 
cial delight. 

As an appropriate accompaniment to 
these golden serpents, we have in the 
centre of the room a small elephant, with 
a figure as large as life seated on its back, 
bearing in his hands a set of musical 
bells, and having over him a canopy hung 
with the same. After some screwing, 
the machinery is set to work. The ele- 
phant's trunk moves up and down, the 
tail wag?, and the eyeballs roll about. 
The automaton at the top also commences 
a tune upon his bells, keeping correct 
time, and occasionally moving his head 
and opening his lips, with a sort of silly 
smile which half makes you smile in 
return. The eye of the elephant, we 
may notice, has a curious movement, 
showing by a little figure the day of the 
year and the hour. Adjoining it is an- 
other royal gewgaw, which cost, we are 
informed, about 9000/. It consists of an 
imitation of flowers and shrubs, wrought 
in precious stones, with birds seated on the 
top. At the touch of the machinery, the 
flowers open and shut, the birds perform 




some mechanical movements, and a num- 
ber of crystal balls roll rpund in circles 
until they fall into the mouth of an all- 
gator, who successively devours them. 
A temple of fountains, made of various 
coloured glasses, and having complicated 
motions, next meets our eye. It is, how- 
ever, like its predecessor, a monument 
of unproductive ingenuity. In similar 
terms we must djsmi&s various musical 
clocks with moving figures. They were 
well calculated, perhaps, to amuse an 
eastern harem, or engage the attention of 
a capricious despot ; but beyond the in- 
terest which viewing them m that light 
creates, they have little to gratify an 
inquiring mind. The real curiosity of 
the exhibition was a tiny bird, in size not 
exceeding the dimensions of one of the 
smaller class of humming birds. On 
being wound up, its little breast heaved, 
its eyes opened, and its bill moved. 
Fluttering its wings in a natural manner, 
it then poured forth a stream of dulcet 
notes, so beautiful and so melodious that 
I felt myself recompensed by this exhi- 
bition of ingenuity for the gewgaws which 
had preceded it It was stated to be the 
masterpiece of its inventor. The machi- 
nery requisite to produce the sounds I 
heard must necessarily have been of the 
most exquisite description. 

Before leaving the apartment, my me- 
mory recalled other automata which in 
my younger days I had seen exhibited. 
One of these was a group of figures — an 
eastern sultan, sultana, and a negro boy 
playing the flute to the accompaniment 
of the drum. The notes were excellent, 
and the illusion almost equal to life. At 
a subsequent period, I had seen figures 
which drew with accuracy and wrote 
with the beauty of an engraver. The 
model of ingenuity which I recollect to 
have examined, however, was the figure 
of an eastern sage. Seated on the top of 
a small box, he replied to various inqui- 
ries addressed to him through the medium 
of oval metallic cards, which the spectator 
inserted at an opening in the framework. 
The questions printed on these cards were 
so pointed, that a definite answer was 
required ; a general one would have been 
quite unsuitable. Among other cards 
which I inserted, one had this inquiry on 
its surface — "Are you not tired, sir, of 
your visitors asking you so many ques- 
tions?" The little figure, after rising 
from its seat, bowed twice or thrice, and 
knocking with a rod at a door, the latter 
flew open, displaying a tablet with these 

words, " It would be most ungrateful of 
me to say so." Other questions produced 
an answer quite as appropriate. This 
automaton attracted considerable notice, 
and was the subject of grave examination. 
Its secret was at last discovered by a 
party who found out that some almost 
invisible niches on the medals fitted into 
a spring, which moved the appropriate 
answer. Here, too, the mechanism must 
have been of the subtlest order. 

In another apartment was to be seen a 
mystery which, fifty years ago, caused 
all London to gape, and which long puz- 
zled profound thinners, under the name 
of " the invisible girl.'* By speaking 
through a brass tube attached to a ball 
suspended from a frame, and having no 
connexion apparently with any other 
apartment, an answer was received to 
any question. The *' invisible girl" has 
long since, however, ceased to be myste- 
rious — it having been discovered many 
years ago, that, by an ingenious contriv- 
ance, the sound was carried into an 
adjoining room, where a con/'ederate was 
concealed. The discoverer of the secret 
was Dr. Isaac Milner, a well-known wri- 
ter of ecclesiastical history. In company 
with Mr. Wilberforce he paid the place a 
visit. The exhibition excited, we are 
told, an almost incredible degree of 
interest and astonishment: princes, peers, 
and ecclesiastics swelled the admiring 
throng. Dr. Milner found the exhibitors, 
although indifferent to ordinary exami- 
ners, amazingly surly when they saw the 
direction that his inspection was taking. 
They told him and Mr. Wilberforce to 
touch nothing ; but the latter gentleman 
slyly put a piece of paper to an opening, 
which being moved by the breath of the 
confederate, satisfied Dr. Milner of the 
soundness of his conclusions. " The 
exhibitor," says Milner 's biographer, 
''sensible that there was, in fact, nothing 
further to conceal, took delight in show- 
ing him all the minutiae of the contriv- 
ance. Dr. Milner had even, when he 
chose, admittance behind the scenes ; and 
for this privilege he on one occasion paid 
its full value. He had entered at an 
early hour the apartment of the invisible 
agent in the mysteries which he had suc- 
ceeded in fathoming, and such was the 
influx of visitors during the morning, 
that to emerge from his hiding-place, 
without betraying much of the secret, 
was impossible. The manager implored 
him not to ruin his fortunes; and the 
good-natured dean finding that he must 



make up bis mind to remain some hours 
where he was, and being quite at home 
with regard to the various signals habi- 
tually transmitted from the outer to the 
inner room, amused himself by relieving 
the invisible girl — who was, in fact, a 
decrepid old woman — from a part of her 
tedious duty. While she cooked her din- 
ner (a mess of soup, as he used to relate) 
he observed for her the signals given, 
and, in fact, did all but speak. Nothing 
of all this, however, did he mention, 
except to those few persons to whom the 
secret was already known, until the asto- 
nishment and admiration produced by 
the invisible sirl had passed away. After- 
wards, indeed, he frequently used to relate 
the whole adventure with much glee." 

But the rain has cleared off, so that we 
may now leave this exhibition, which 
displays much of what must be termed 
misdirected ingenuity. How far more 
useful, justly observes a writer, were 
Watt or Arkwright than the whole tribe 
of automata makers from the days of 
antiquity downwards. Life is too short, 
and its destinies are too momentous for 
laborious trifling. Automata, however, 
are not confined to figures of wood and 
metal. We find them in daily life, in 
the shape of men going round in an 
unbroken routine, without ever exerting 
those faculties which were meant to be 
improved by cultivation. A more serious 
order of automata exists, however, even 
in religious bodies. The mechanical 
figures we have described imitated many 
of the functions of life, but it was, after 
all, only imitation; the vital principle 
was absent. It is possible, in a similar 
manner, for men to ape, by a round of 
external duties, the functions of spiritual 
life, so as. to deceive perhaps themselves, 
and at all events those around them. 
Men may pray, read the word, attend 
ordinances, give and receive spiritual ex- 
hortations, and yet the Searcher of hearts 
may see that all is but mechanical. Life 
is wanting. £. Y. 


"What went before and what will 
follow me," says a modem writer, "I 
regard as two black impenetrable cur- 
tains, which hang down at the two extre- 
mities of human life, and which no living 
man has yet drawn aside. Many hun- 
dreds of generations have already stood 
before them with their torches, guessing 
anzioiuly what lies behind* . . • i A 

deep silence reigns behind this curtain ; 
no one once within it will answer those 
he leaves without ; all you can hear is a 
hollow echo of vour question, as if you 
shouted into a coasm. How delightful 
to know, in contrast with such a senti- 
ment, Jesus Christ, as having brought life 
and immortality by his gospel ! 


" What," says a writer,* " can be 
more extraordinary to our common no* 
tions of things, than to behold the 
bottom of the sea rise up into a moun- 
tain above the water, and become so firm 
an island as to be able to resist the vio- 
lence of the greatest storms. I know 
that subterraneous fires, when pent in a 
narrow passage, are able to raise up a 
mass of earth as large as an island ; but 
that this should be done in so regular a 
manner that the water of the sea should 
not be able to penetrate and extinguish 
those fires ; and, after having been extin- 
guished, that the mass of earth should 
not fall down, or sink again with its own 
weight, but still remain, in a manner, 
suspended over the great arch below ! — 
this is what to me is more surprising than 
anything that has been related of mount 
Etna, Vesuvius, or any other volcano." 

The volcanic agencv to which this 
writer has alluded, is mdeed one of the 
most frightful and majestic of all the 
phenomena connected with our globe. A 
surprising feature, also, of these subter^ 
ranean fires is, that they are mostly situ- 
ated upon islands, or on the sea coast. 
Iceland, for example, in the region of 
perpetual snows, flames with the fires of 
Hecla and other mountains, and is also 
noted for its boiling springs : 

" Ueie beat and oold extend their inflnence round. 
And ice and fixe in strange extremes are found." 

Gounong-api in the Banda group, has an 
active volcano ; and the pressure of the 
submarine fire is so great, that a mass of 
black basalt of enormous dimensions has 
been known to rise up into existence so 
gently that the inhabitants were not aware 
of what was going on till it was nearly 
done. Our purpose in the present paper, 
however, is not so much to describe vol*" 
canoes as to trace their extraordinary 
agency in forming islands, in compara- 
tively modern times. They may \it 

* auoted in tlM « OaUcry of Nttuze and Azt,^' 
vol. i.» p. 002. 



termed in this respect a great laboratory 
or workbhop, from whose deep-seated (ires 
there occasionally issues, at the will of the 
Creator, mountains and islands adapted 
for the use of man. Ascension Island, 
now occupied as a British station, thus 
had its origin. A few years ago, on the 
coast of Sicily, an island formed by vol- 
canic action sprung up in the presence of 
many spectators. The crews of various 
vessels who witnessed the phenomenon, 
hastened with good-humoured rivalry to 
plant their national flag upon the new- 
nedged bantam, but almost at the 
moment of reaching it, or at all events 
shortly afterwards, their contentions as to 
priority of occupation were disposed of 
by the island quietly sinking down once 
more into the deep. The formation of 
islands of this character, however, is 
generally attended with phenomena at 
once magnificent and awful ; and, per^ 
haps, no where have we more striking 
exemplifications of this than in that little- 
known, but extraordinary group of 
islands in the Grecian Archipelago, called 
Santorini. On this subject lieutenant Ley- 
cester^ a modern traveller, has furnished 
much valuable information in a paper 
contributed to the transactions of the 
Royal Geographical Society. 

The physical configuration of Santorini 
orThera (the chief of the group), is very 
remarkable. Its shape is that of a 
crescent ; and is considered to be without 
a parallel, excepting it be the curiously 
formed island of Amsterdam in the 
Indian Ocean. The western or inner 
shores of Santorini present a series of 
frightful precipices, from 500 to 1,200 feet 
in height, in the edges of which are the 
houses of the inhabitants. The inner 
shores of the opposite islands, Tberasia 
and Aspronisi, exnibit a similar appear- 
ance. The three islands stand in a circu- 
lar form, and within them rolls the sea 
over the extinct crater of a vast volcano. 
Were the crater empty, the head would 
grow confused as from the heights of San- 
torini we gazed upon the vast abyss 
beneath, which is estimated as being 
at about 2,449 feet deep. 

From the ocean crater, then, just 
alluded to, three mountainous islands rear 
their heads, the highest of which is about 
351 feet above the level of the sea. The 
date of the birth of the first island is 
doubtful ; but that it is the offspring of the 
ocean crater seems certain. ''Between 
Tbera and Tberasia," says the ancient 
g^grapher Strabo, ''flames rose out of 

the waves for four days, so that the whole 
sea boiled and blazed, and they gradually 
threw up an island, just as if it were 
raised by mechanical means, composed 
of liquid masses." This island appears 
to have received additions from volcanic 
agency at two distinct times, namely, 
A.D. 726 and 1457. It is called Paleo 
Kaimeni, or Old Burnt Island. 

A century rolled away after the last addi- 
tion to Paleo Kaimeni, and the inhabi- 
tants of Santorini had settled down. Their 
troubles were apparently at an end. As 
the succeeding generations were listening, 
however, to the wondrous story of an 
island bom in a day, and wishing doubt- 
less that their own times might not be 
characterized by any such awful convul- 
sions, they were admonished by the 
trembling of the earth beneath their feet, 
the discoloured waves, and the subter- 
ranean thunder, that the war of elements 
had again begun. A second island 
showed its head above the surface of the 
ocean bed; and its birth was attended 
by all those terrific circumstances of 
which they had been told by their fathers. 
The waters smoked— flames of fire were 
seen — clouds of ashes floated over the 
sea — rocks and stones were raised to the 
top of the waters, and remained there 
forming themselves into a solid mass. 
They burned for a whole year. When 
their fears had subsided, the people 
examined the island, and finding that it 
was not so large as its predecessor they 
called it " Mikro Kaimeni," Little Burnt 

The year 1650 arrived, and ominous 
signs portended another volcanic erup- 
tion. Intense drought and unprecedented 
calms, causing the suspension of the wind- 
mills on the island occurred. As the year 
advanced, the houses rocked to and fro 
like ships in a tempest. The sea turned 
green, announcing the fact that metals 
were in a state of solution ; flames rose 
up out of the water to a height of 18 feet, 
and were visible at a distance of six 
miles. "Shortly afterwards there ap- 
peared a heap of white earth, like snow, 
and in the form of a bird's-nest." At 
length an eruption took place,with a fearful 
crash ; streams of burning matter flowed 
down resembling liquid fire. The sea 
roared ; the earth shook ; the air appeared 
on fire ; flames were emitted in torrents 
from the crater, accompanied with claps 
of thunder. Large pieces of rock, too, 
were ejected a distance of six miles. It 
was nature in its most awful manifests- 



lions; a foreshadowing of that solemn 
season, announced hy an inspired pen, 
when the elements shall melt with fervent 

After so terrific an explosion, it well 
might have heen expected that Santorini 
would have rocked nerself to rest. But 
no; in May, 1707, two slight shocks of 
an earthquake betokened that all was not 
quiet. The fires which water cannot 
quench were raging heneath; and the 
month had not passed away, when there 
appeared floating on the sea what was 
supposed to he a wreck. In the hope of 
plunder, a party of seamen rowed towards 
it, but to their utter astonishment it was 
a mass of solid rock and white earth ! 
They rowed quickly back, and soon the 
news was spread abroad. Curiosity 
prompted many on the day following to 
set out to inspect the island thus thrown 
up. They discovered oysters, together 
with sea hedgehogs, attached to the rocks ; 
and as there were no signs of smoke or 
eraption, the people apparently with 
much delight stepped from rock to rock, 
gathering the oysters, and examining the 
white soil, which cut like bread. But 
a movement took place, and the new- 
bom island shook beneath their feet, 
rising up on one side and submerging on 
the other. Affrighted, the people hastened 
to their boats. Large pieces of rock 
were seen to rise and fall in the ocean. 
The sea was green, then reddish, and 
then yellow, emitting sulphurous exha- 
lations. The young island continued to 
increase, but without noise or violence, 
till from the size of a mole-hill it had 
risen to the height of seventy or eighty 
feet. Shortly afterwards, the sea appeared 
like oil ready to boll over, and continued 
bubbling and smoking for about a month. 
Jeto of flame, resembling so many pro- 
digious sky-rockets, burst in the air. 
Thunder rolled, clouds of ashes darkened 
the atmosphere, and fragments of red- 
hot rock flew about, composing a dread- 
ful artillery. At intervals, during some 
months, these terrible phenomena oc- 
curred with more or less violence, and it 
was not until three years had elapsed 
that the volcano became entirely tran- 
quil. The new island was then found to 
have assumed the shape of a cone per- 
fectly white, and three hundred and fifty- 
one feet high. It is called New Burnt Is- 
land, and forms a useful harbour of refuge. 
It might have been deemed almost 
imposBible that a community of inhabi- 
tanta should flourish on a spot so unfa- 

vourably situated. Yet it is estimated 
that Santorini contains no less than 14,380 
inhabitants. Its towns have a singular 
appearance, built as they are on the sides 
of the cliffs, like so many eyries of birds 
of prey. As the voyager enters some of 
the harbours of the island, the houses 
tower above the masts of his vessel ; and at 
night, says lieutenant Leycester, he would 
hardly be aware of the presence of a town 
were it not for the twinkling of lights along 
the cliff. The approaches to the towns are 
by zigzag roads or stairs, cut in the rock, 
which are dizzy to tread. Those leading 
from the sea to Thera, it is considered, 
would take a tolerable pedestrian about 
twenty minutes in their ascent. The 
roadways are on the summit of cliffs, and 
the traveller would little think as he 
journeyed, that he was riding over the 
heads of some hundreds of individuals, 
were it not for the admonitory presence 
of chimneys now and then rising up on 
either side of bis path. 

The north of the island is occupied in a 
great measure by three remarkable moun- 
tains, and is generally speaking a mass of 
volcanic material. The southern half is 
richly cultivated with a series of smiling 
vineyards, and forms a pleasing contrast 
to the desolation of the former. The 
villages with their whitewashed buildings, 
spring up, as it were, out of a mass of 

The Santoriniots, especially the villagers, 
are described as " robust in person, tall, 
and stout; sober, chaste, fond of their 
countrv, and economical ; but dirty and 
slovenly in their persons, and more espe- 
cially the women. Their chief diet is 
salt fish, herbs, and barley, bread, or 
biscuit." They never eat new bread; 
this arises from the expensiveness of fuel, 
which has to be imported for their use ; 
and hence the poor are said to hake no 
more than three times in the year. Not- 
withstanding, the villagers are generous, 
although in the towns but little courtesy 
is shown to the stranger by the inha- 
bitants. A somewhat extensive trade is 
carried on between Santorini and Russia. 
Wine is the principal article of export ; 
tea, butter, oil, and caviare being those of 
import. The Santoriniots tread closely 
in the steps of their forefathers, and 
doubtless, if inquiry were made of them, 
they would, on the principle so deeply 
seated in the generality of mankind, 
state that they consider their own island, 
with all its disadvantages, to be the most 
agreeable country in the globe. 



The religion, we may add, is that of 
the Greek and Latin churches. 

The^successive changes which Santorini 
has undergone fully justify the remark 
of lieutenant Leycester in concluding his 
paper. '* As it is impossihie, " he ohserves, 
** to foresee what ultimate changes may 
take place in a region like this, perhaps 
all these islands may again he united, 
and the crater at present filled with water 
may again hecome dry land." Be this 
as it may, the remarkable vicissitudes 
which have taken place in these islands 
— the boiling sea, the earthquakes, the 
unquenchable fire, the thunderings, the 
lightnings — should fill our minds with 
awe and reverence at the name of Him, 
who spake and it was done, who com- 
manded and it stood fast, and who is 
wonderful in counsel and excellent 
in working. They may also direct our 
thoughts to that eventful period, when 
the mountains shall fiee away, and the 
hills be removed, and when the earth 
shall be burned up, and there shall be no 
more sea : when the great Husbandman 
shall come to gather the wheat into his 
gamer, but will burn up the chaff with 
unquenchable fire. If a contemplation 
of the manifestations of the power, wis- 
dom, and goodness of God, as exhibited 
in the remarkable group of Santorini, shall 
lead any to acquaint themselves with 
Him, ** and be at peace with Him, 
through a crucified Redeemer," oar 
paper will Hot have been written in vain. 
We urge, therefore, the remark, — as it 
is impossible to foresee what changes 
may take place ; " Be ye also ready, for 
in an hour when ye think not the Son 
of man cometh.'' H. H. 


Erasmus, during his visit to England, 
some centuries ago, enjoyed the hos- 
pitality of Queen's College, Cambridge. 
His apartment is still shown, and was 
occupied by Dr. Claudius Buchanan, on 
his return from India. Of Erasmus' 
sojourn at this abode of learning, only 
one relique is preserved ; not some huge 
folio, as might have been supposed, but a 
huge corkscrew! It is mentioned by 
Dr. Buchanan as being about a third of a 
yard long. "I am afraid," says an emi- 
nent ecclesiastical historian, when ad- 
verting to this relic, " there was nothing 
in Erasmus' principles to prevent him 
making a veiy assiduous use of it." 


Mr. Browne, the author of a work on 
Stonehenge, was a man of limited means, 
but of respectable mental attainments, 
who had been early struck with the mag- 
nificence of the remains on Salisbury 
Plain, and had imbibed a passion for the 
temple at Stonehenge as absorbing and 
as powerful as that felt by the young 
Pansienne for the Belvidere Apollo, or as 
any one of the Pygmalion-like instances 
of which so many are recorded. To this, 
and to its illustrative remains in the 
neighbourhood, all his thoughts were 
devoted. He lived under its shadow, he 
dreamed of it, he endeavoured to trace out 
the hidden mystery of its existence, he 
lectured upon its many wonders, and he 
published a book about it. When en- 
gaged on his lectures to the members of 
the literary institutions that existed some 
years since in Salisbury, he used to bring 
his drawings and make his arrangements 
in the morning, return to Amesbury to 
dinner, come back with more materials 
in the afternoon, read his lecture in the 
evening, and then again walk on his soli- 
tary road to Amesbury at night after 
the conclusion of the meeting, having 
already walked five-and-twenty miles. 
But this persevering energy of his cha- 
racter was more particularly exemplified 
during the construction of his model of 
Stonehenge. Every stone was modelled on 
the spot, and the most minute variations 
in the original carefully noted in his copy. 
Day after day, and week after week, was 
he to be found among those memorials of 
old time — planning, measuring, model- 
ling, painting, in the prosecution of his 
self-prescribed task, and interrupted only 
by the necessity of sometimes visiting 
Salisbury for materials, which he bore 
home himself, and on foot. The difficulty 
of making such a copy would not perhaps 
be great with proper assistance, but this 
man worked wholly by himself, and we 
can imagine his self-gratulation on the 
completion of his labours, when he could 
exclaim, like the victor of Corioli, " Alone 
I did it ! I ! " From this model he made 
others on different scales, and the moulds 
being preserved, these are still sold by 
his son, together with some of his own 
drawings equally accurate, to occasional 

Mr. Browne, though he had completed 
his work, had not yet found for it a rest- 
ing-place, and he determined to present it 
to the British Museum. It was accepted 



by the trustees with thanks, and its author 
chose to have the pleasure of placing it 
with his own hands in this great reposi- 
tory of the antiquities of the world. 
Unwilling to trust the model from his 
sight, and equally unwilling or unable to 
bear the expenses of the usual modes of 
travelling, he resolved to walk with it to 
London ; and, mounting his model on a 
wheel-barrow or hand truck, he set off 
across the plain with his charge. After 
a toilsome and almost continuous march 
of two days and nights (for he only slept 
for a short time in the day), he arrived 
on the morning of the third day at the 
British Museum, showed the letter of the 
trustees to the porter, wheeled his load 
into the court-yard, and saw his model 
safely deposited in the house. He left 
without staying to be questioned, and 
was soon on his way home again ; but, I 
believe, was detained some days on the 
road by illness, brought on by his exer- 
tion8.~-Proi;tncia^ Journal, 


" Nevertheless the centurion be- 
lieved the master and the owner of the 
ship, more than those things which were 
spoken by Paul," Acts xxvii. 11. And 
such is the way of the world ; conscience 
on one side, and prejudice on the other ; 
faith asking an audience, and selfishness 
stopping the ear. The Roman officer is 
evidently inclined, in his better moments, 
to believe in the saintly character of the 
apostle ; but his interest is rather to take 
the verdict of the shipmen. It was in- 
convenient to believe the Christian cap- 
tive — so belief was out of the queslion. 
It was agreeable to promise one's self a 
safe and speedy voyage to Rome; so to 
Rome would he straightway go. *' There 
is a way which seemeth rignt unto a man, 
but the end thereof are the ways of 

Julius, the centurion, wa? doubtless 
struck by the holy converse and calm 
demeanour of the apostolic prisoner com- 
mitted to his charge ; for, among other 
evidences of this, we find that he '^ cour- 
teously entreated " the noble appellant to 
Caesar, and " gave him liberty," when at 
Sidon, "to go unto his friends to refresh 
himself." At Myra, a port in Asia 
Minor, a ship, bound for Italy, gave 
tbem accommodation, and the eventful 
voyage commenced. Ere long the stormy 
season of the year, and the difficulties of 
the track they had to pursue, made sail- 

ing dangerous; whereupon Paul admo- 
nished them, sa>inp;, ''Sirs, I perceive 
that this voyage will be with hurt and 
much damage, not only of the lading and 
the ship, but also of our lives." But the 
centurion longed to tread the streets of 
old Rome, to rejoin old friends, and 
revisit old scenes; and thus, while the 
unscrupulous but interested assurances of 
the master and owner of the vessel were 
eagerly caught at, the grave warnings of 
the naan of God were displeasing as the 
croakings of some ill-omened voice. 

The evangelist depicts, with life-like 
touches, the several events of the gather- 
ing catastrophe; the fulfilment of St. 
Paul's presage; the despondency and 
despair of passengers and crew, the sere- 
nity of that one good man, to whom, in 
the night visions, a voice he loved and 
adored had whispered the dulcet syl- 
lables, "Fear not;" and the touching 
details of the final wreck. But our busi- 
ness at present is with the principle of 
the centution, as an illustration of ordi- 
nary conduct on the part of ourselves, our 
kinsfolk, and friends. 

Amiable people, ready to act as cour- 
teously and indulgently as Julius to Paul, 
abound in the first, the nineteenth, and 
every intermediate century, erring in the 
same short-sighted way. In the great 
voyage of life they picture out some ideal 
land, whither they would fain flee and be 
at rest, some loved and joyous Italy, on 
whose green sward they long to tread ; 
and when the emphatic realism of holy 
writ assures them they are labouring for 
very vanity, that their Italy is an Utopia, 
their promised land a dream-land, their 
hope a hope that maketh ashamed ; when 
they are warned of peril in yearning after 
the unattainable, reckless of calamities in 
store, ignoring the existence of a bar- 
barous island in their route, and of so 
following out irregular fancies as to make 
shipwreck of faith and a good conscience ; 
oh ! they scout the warning as imperti- 
nent and obtrusive, and would rather 
trust to the tender mercies of some tem- 
pestuous wind Euroclydon, than be de- 
terred from hastening to their Rome. 
And verily it is well if, at last, they 
become wise in time : it is well if, by 
God's grace, some on boards and some 
on broken pieces of the ship, they escape 
safe to land. 

The heart loves to have its own way ; 
and, if it have its own way, eternity must 
be kept out of sight. Time spent in 
selfish pleasures, and eternity spent in 



spiritual service, why what concord is 
there, can there be, hetween such terms ? 
The one cancels the other. Christ and 
Belial cannot coalesce. The Spirit and 
the flesh repudiate affinity. One must 
give way. The question is, which ? Was 
the centurion's desire to reach the Tiber 
by a certain day and for certain purposes 
worth the risk of a fearful shipwreck and 
much damage ? And shall it be said of 
us in the sad sequel, "that man had a 
respect for religion, a conviction of its 
truth, some interest in its power, much 
inquiry in its province ? or that woman 
had an affection for public services, and 
a painful sense of sin, and an assurance 
of earthly vanity, and a circle of religious 
acquaintanceship whom she * courteously 
entreated?' nevertheless, they believed 
what a corrupt heart suggested, loving to 
have it so, rather than those things which 
are spoken by God." 



A government order having been ob- 
tained (says the author of " A Journey 
in France and Italy"), we started, a few 
mornings since, to ascend to the ball. This 
document is from the State-office, signed 
by the minister of the interior, who in the 
formula washes his hands of all blood- 
guiltiness, if you should fall from any of 
the altitudes and dash out your brains — 
a comfortable prestige for those who are 
given to be nervous. The first stair, which 
mounts some two hundred feet perpendi- 
cular to the attic, is a spiral slope which 
laden mules can traverse. All here is 
clean and white as dimity. Arrived on 
the roof of the attic, you find a colony of 
workmen and their houses, the statues of 
th'e Saviour and the twelve apostles, and 
around you a superb prospect. These 
colossal figures, viewed close, are rude 
enough. St. Matthew's thumb is nn 
awkward bit of stone, a foot long; this 
gives the just effect from below. The 
second stair, somewhat narrower, lands 
you above the capitals of the pillars from 
which the dome springs. Here we walked 
around the circular, balustraded gallery, 
and again corrected the impressions of 
distance. Cherubs' dove-like eyes were 
found to be rough uneven bricks; and 
mosaics, which seem exquisite from the 
pavement, were like a road commencing 
macadamization. Tlie pavement of the 
church itself had dwindled to the resem- 
blance of a cheas- board, and the Baldac- 

chino (ninety feet high) seemed a child's 
cradle. Yet another stair, and a long 
one, winding between the two shells of 
the cupola : it is narrow, of course, but 
as wide as some garret stairs. When we 
emerged from this, we were four hundred 
feet above the pavement, and the ffreat 
fresco at the crown of the vault lay a little 
under our feet From one of the '' can- 
dlestick" portals we eazed on a scene 
difficult to describe. Kome was reduced 
to compressed domes and jagged lines, 
formed by the palace roofs ; and here and 
there an overgrown gable or crested ruin 
towered above the horizontal masses, like 
the hull of the Drectdnought among our 
Thames lighters. Some of the shadows 
projected were very fine. The Tiber, 
apparently motionless, lay curled on the 
amber-tinted Campagna ; the Latin and 
Sabine hills swept the sky in undulating 
lines of blue ; Soracte heaved a dark ser- 
rated ridge ; and, seaward, Ostia might 
be discerned crouching on the water's 
edge. Some fifty steps lead from hence 
to the metal ladder which admits you at 
a round orifice into the ball. Within 
this singular retreat you may amuse 
yourself with tapping at the hollow shell, 
and listening to the music of the spheres. 
The diameter is some eight or nine feet, 
and you can converse very comfortably 
on the cross-bars. People may think the 
above dimensions scanty for a drawing- 
room ; I can only say the ball is as roomy 
as some of the cabins in our '' magnificent 
accommodation" steamers. After this 
we descended from our altitudes as safely 
as the benevolent minister of the holy see 
could wish. 


<' I am bringing up my daughter," said 
lord Byron, " in a Catholic convent ; for 
if she is to have any religion, I desire 
that she may have her hands full." How 
well does this random sneer characterize 
the religion of which he speaks. It is a 
religion which gives full employment to 
the whole man, except the essential part 
of him. It employs the feet in pilgrim- 
ages and processions, the knees in genu- 
flections, the hands in crossing, the 
tongue in Pater Nosters and Ave Marias, 
the lips in kissing the toes of marble 
apostles and the shrines of pictured 
saints; but it leaves the understanding 
groping in darkness which it has no dis- 
position to dispel, and the heart weltering 
in a corruption which it has no means to 


Olil Londou-Biidgh 


AuoNo the improvementi of modem 
timet must be reckoned our skill in the 
conatruction of bridges. There is ai grest 
a difference between the narrow, clumiy, 
and inconvenient arches irhich our foTe- 
fatherg huilt, end the broad, epacioug, and 
elegant structures that now span our 
principal rivets, ai between the enlight- 
ened opinions of the nineteenth century, 
and the obsolete and exploded notions of 
the middle ages. 

The destruction of old London- bridge, 
tome twenty years ago, to make way for 
its modern sucoenor, was an event too 
obviously useful to be opposed by the 
reflecting classes. Nevertneless, it was 
not without a sigh that the antiquarian 
and those read — however partially — in 
the local transsctiont of London, saw it 
disappear. It had existed for six cen- 
turiet; and across its venerable cause^ 
way, to use the language of a modern 
writer, " the wise, the beautiful, the 
noble, from all countries and climes, the 
adventurer in search of gold, tiia Jesuit 
employed in the dark mission of mystery 
and intrigue, the arabatsador followed by 
his gorgeous suite, the philosophers, the 
statesmen, and poets had passed in their 

H«RCB, 1S51. 

journey to the great eommercMl capital 
of the world." 

Wooden bridges, on the site or nearly 
to, of the present structure, appear to 
have existed as far back as the year 994, 
if not at an earlier period. Canute, king 
of Denmark, having in bis siege of Lon- 
don, uniucceisfuUy endeavoured to force 
Ills way past one of these erections, ex- 
ecuted a military work of surprising 
magnitude, when the age in whi1:h be 
lived is considered. At RedrifT he dug a 
canal, leading into the river at a higher 
point, up which he introduced his vessels. 
The labour required for such an opera- 
tion would even in our day, with all the 
appurtenances of science, nave been pro- 

It was not, however, until between the 
years 1176 and 1209, that a stone bridge 
spanned the Thames. An ecclesiastic, 
Peter of South wark, — the Barry or Rennle 
of bis day, — was thearchitect. Aehapel 
was in the centre, and a drawbridge near 
the Southwark extremity, while the sides 
were lined with houses. The latter erec- 
tions, doubtless, owed their origin to the 
eagerness with which, in an uncivilized 
period, men sought protection within the 
walls of a fortified city. Singular dwell- 
ings these old houses must have been. 



Pennant, the antiquary, has described 
the whole row of them, as being a street 
narrow, darksome, and dangerous to pas- 
sengers. Frequent arches of timber 
crossed them to keep them together, and 
prevent them from falling into the river. 
Most of the houses were tenanted by pin 
or ueedle<makers ; and economical ladies 
were wont to drive from the St. James's 
end of the town to make cheap purchases 
at them. 

In the reign of aueen Elizabeth, the 
bridge was a favourite residence of the 
booksellers of the day. Along its dim 
and misty labyrinths might, doubtless, 
have often been seen, wending their way, 
the authors of those goodly folios and 
quartos which attest the deep learning of 
queen Bess's times, and shame our pigmy 
race of octavo ond duodecimo writers. 
Other objects besides shops, however, 
attracted the passengers on London- 
bridge. It was the spot on which the 
heads of traitors were frequently exhi- 
bited, being affixed to the top of one of 
the towers. A German traveller, in the 
sixteenth century, counted thirty such 
melancholy memorials of the fierce pas- 
sions of the times. In those days " the 
smell of a dead traitor" was considered 
the most agreeable perfume which the 
nostrils of a loyal subject could inhale. 

Spaces at intervals were left on the 
bridge, through which the passenger 
could get glimpses of the world of waters 
below, and their bimrre groups of ship- 
ping. It was when Mr. Guy, the founder 
of Guy's Hospital, was standing gazing 
at one of these openings, that a bene- 
volent individual slipped a guinea into 
his hand, imagining, from his threadbare 
garments and melancholy appearance, 
that he was meditating a suicidal leap 
into the river. Guy is said to have libe- 
rally rewarded his intentional benefactor. 
Groups of spectators, after the demolition 
of the houses in 1757, were wont to 
throng the sides of London-bridge, look- 
ing at some waterworks erected at it, 
and watching also what used to be a sort 
of nautical masterpiece, the spectacle of 
wherries "shooting the bridge." "At 
low tide," to quote Mr. Jesse's words, 
" an almost terrific full of water, forming 
a number of temporary cataracts, took 
place." Daring watermen used occasion- 
ally to descend these elevations, at the 
risk of their lives. Sometimes also this fall 
formed the spot which men, with a fatal 
decision, selected as the means of putting 
an end to their existence. Budgell, the 

associate of Addison in the composition 
of " The Spectator," a son of the eminent 
sir William Temple, the statesman, with 
others less known to fame, here rushed 
unbidden into the presence of their great 

In the centre of the bridge, as we have 
already stated, was an old chapel, con- 
taining a monument of Peter, the archi- 
tect of the structure. It was connected 
by a winding stair with the river, and 
had attached to it an ancient fishpond, 
covered over with an iron grating, which 
prevented the fish from escaping after 
they had once been carried in by the 
tide. " Mr. Thomson," adds Mr. Jesse, 
" informs us, that in 1827, there was still 
living one of the old functionaries of the 
bridge, then verging towards his hun- 
dredth year, who wellremembered having 
descended the winding staircase leading 
from the chapel, in order to fish in the 
pond*" About the beginning of the last 
century, the old chapel was converted 
into a warehouse and shop, which in 
1737 were tenanted by a Mr. Baldwyn, 
or Yaldwyn. A curious fact is told 
respecting this individual, which illus- 
trates the power of habit over the func- 
tions of the body and mind. " When in 
his seventy-seventh year, having had lus 
health impaired, Mr. Baldwyn was re- 
commended by his medical adviser to 
retire for a time into the country, for the 
advantage of fresh air and quiet. Accord- 
ingly he proceeded to Chiselhurst; but 
so accustomed was he to the monotonous 
roar of the river, rushing through the 
narrow arches of London-bridge, that the 
stillness of the country deprived him 
entirely of sleep ! " He had to return to 

The old bridge, we may only add, after 
having existed for about six hundred 
years, was taken down in 1832. In 
1824 was laid the first pile of the present 
magnificent structure, far excelling, in 
handsomeness and convenience, its vene- 
rable predecessor. As to durability, it 
promises to see a good old age. On this 
point we can, however, only anticipate. 
A later generation must test the truth of 
our conclusion. Long, long before new 
London-bridge reaches one- sixth part of 
its predecessor's term of existence,, those 
who cross it in 1851, will have passed 
into an unchanging condition of exist- 
ence, where more momentous realities 
will engage their attention. 

M. H. W, 




Wouldst thou listen to its gentle teaching, 
All thy restless yearnings it 'would still; 

Leaf, and flower, and laden bee are preaching, 
Thine own sphere, though humble, first to fill. 

I believe that it is scarcely possible to 
live in a family where religion is sweetly 
exemplified, even by one member only, 
without deep convictions. Truly has it 
been said, that " our duties are like the 
circles of a whirlpool, and the inner- 
most includes home." A modern writer 
has designated home, '* heaven's fallen 
sister ;" and a melancholy truth lies 
shrouded in those few words. Our home 
influence is not a passing, but an abiding 
one; and all-powerful for good or evil, 
for peace or strife, for happiness or 
misery. Each separate Christian home 
has been likened to a central sun, around 
which revolves a happy and united band 
of warm, loving hearts, acting, thinking, 
rejoicing, and sorrowing together. Which 
member of the family group can say, I 
have no influence? What sorrow, or 
what happiness, lies in the power of 

•* A lighted lamp," writes M'Cheyne, 
"ia a very small thing, and it burns 
calmly and without noise, yet it giveth 
light to all who are within the house." 
And so there is a quiet influence, which, 
like the flame of a scented lamp, fills 
many a home with light and fragrance. 
Such an influence has been beautifully 
compared to '*a carpet, soft and deep, 
which, while it difiuses a look of ample 
comfort, deadens many a creaking sound. 
It is the curtain which, from many a 
beloved form, wards ofi* at once the sum- 
mer's glow and the winter's wind. It is 
the pillow on which sickness lays its 
head, and forgets half its misery." This 
influence falls as the refreshing dew, 
the invigorating sunbeam, the fertilizing 
shower, shinin? on all with the mild 
histre of moonSght, and harmonizing in 
one soft tint many of the discordant hues 
of a family picture. 

There are animalcules, we are told, 
" invisible to the naked eye, which make 
the sea brilliant as fire, so that every 
wave seems bordered with gold ; and 
there are also small reptiles which occa- 
sion those miasms which by their plague 
can slay the strongest natures : so even 
spintual existence has its monads, and 
the life- atmosphere of the family depends 
upon what the nature of these is." Let 
us all endeavour to resemble the good 

animalcules, which, although invisible, 
make all around bright and golden- 

And now let ns glance for a moment 
on the home influenee of those who are 
neither kind nor gentle. It is a sad pic- 
ture, truthfully painted. <*Do you not 
know," writes the artist,— ** Do you not 
know that they bestow wretchedness in- 
stead of happiness even upon those who 
are dearest and nearest to them? Do 
you not know that their very voice is 
dreaded, and unwelcome as it sounds 
through their home? Is not their step 
avoided in the passage, or on the stairs, 
in the certainty of no kind or cheerful 
greeting, in the fear of angry words? 
Do you not observe that every subject 
but the most indiflisrent is lightly touched 
upon in their presence, or concealed from 
their knowledge, in the vain hope of 
keeping away food for their excitement 
of temper ? Deprived of confidence, de- 
prived of respect, their society is shunned 
even by the {e,w who still love them." 
They pass through their homes like the 
easterly wind, and a chilling blight falls 
on the domestic scene. Their influence 
is a fearful one. Anger begets anger. 
They are aptly compared to a jar of 
household vinegar, wherein are dissolved 
the precious pearls of daily life. They 
are unhappy in themselves, and they 
make others so. They are ill-tempered, 
and they spoil the tempers of those with 
whom they associate. Harsh and un- 
loving, they breed hard thoughts in the 
breasts of others. They darken the sun- 
shine of daily life. They weaken our 
faith in the good and beautiful. Their 
home influence, instead of being a bless- 
ing, becomes a curse. 

Dear reader, is any member of your 
family suffering from the infirmity of an 
initable temper? Try what a contrary 
influence — try what kindness will do. 
From daily and continual observation 
you can most probably tell what things, 
what provocations, are the likeliest to 
call forth this besetting sin. Endeavour, 
if possible, to avoid them ; be on the 
watch for little opportunities of smooth- 
ing away difiiculties. Remember that 
"a soft answer turneth away wrath;" 
and that kind words are as oil poured on 
the troubled waters. Seek to be always 
patient to the faults and imperfections of 
others ; for, doubtless, thou hast many of 
thine own. How blessed is he who by 
good words and deeds can bring a con- 
tinual sunshine into the home where he 

H 2 



dweUi I How blessed are the fruits of a 
cheerful and forbearing spirit, filled with 
love towards God and man I 

The following prayer, written by an 
experienced Christian, is well worth 
learning by heart : — ''Be pleased, O 
Lord, to bless the small, feeble endea- 
vours of thy poor child, to do her duty to 
others ; for without tby blessing they are 
all ineffectual, and with thv blessing I 
need not doubt but they will tend to my 
own good, and the good of those I desire 
to serve — more particularly at home." 
£lsewhere we find the same person pray- 
ing thus :— " May I dwell nearer in spirit 
to my Redeemer, that Increased humility, 
watchfulness, patience, and forbearance, 
may be my portion ; that I may not only 
be saved myself, but that I may not stand 
in the way of others* salvation, more par* 
ticularly in that of my own household 
and family ; and that I may, if consistent 
with the Divine will, be made instru- 
mental in saving others *' It is a fearful 
thought that we may, by our influence, 
stand in the way of the salvation of 
others — *' especially those of our own 
household and family :'* and we do well 
to pray against it, and that we may be a 
help, and not a hindrance, one to an- 

How great is the influence of the heads 
of families, of masters and mistresses, 
parents, brothers and sisters, and even of 
servants and little children ! How many 
servants have had cause to bless the day 
when they first entered into a pious 
family, and not only listened to the pre- 
cepts of God's holy word, but witnessed 
bow they were exemplified, and carried 
out in the daily life of those whom it was 
their privilege to serve I How many 
parents are there whose children have 
risen up and called them blessed I How 
many a brother and sister have owed 
their conversion, under God, to each 
other I How many Christian servants 
have been the first to introduce religion 
into a thoughtless and worldly family, 
choosing the time of sickness or sorrow, 
when the heart was softened and sub- 
dued, and asking God's blessing upon 
their humble endeavours I How many a 
little child has been permitted to speak a 
word for Jesus I ''Those," writes Miss 
Catherine Sinclair, " who neglect to pro- 
mote the happiness, or to seek the salva- 
tion of any with whom the providence of 
an all-wise Creator has connected them 
by the most sacred ties, betray one of 
their chief trusts, and lose one of the 

greatest felicities which the world can 

The influence of a dear young friend, 
whose home conduct was a oeautiful 
illustration of the faith that worketh by 
love, is thus described by an eye-witness : 
— "She moved about the house like a 
sunbeam. I heard her singing as she 

Eassed to and fro, and her mother heard 
er too, and said, with a fond smile, ' It 
is Mary. She is always the same, always 
happy. I do not know what I should do 
without her.' ' I do not know what any 
of us would do without Mary,' repeated 
her eldest daughter, and the rest echoed 
her words. 

" Her youngest brother is of a violent 
temper, and is always quarrelling with 
somebody; but he never quarrels with 
Mary, because she will not quarrel with 
him, but strives to turn aside his anger 
by gentle words. Even her presence has 
an influence over him. So it has on all 
her brothers; and to please her they 
have left off taking in the Sunday news- 
paper, and go to church, or read good 
books at home. They none of them 
think as seriously as she does about 
sacred things ; but they avoid making a 
jest of them when she is present, or say- 
ing or doing anything to hurt her feel- 
ings. And some day, Mary hopes that 
what they now abstain from for her sake, 
will be abstained from out of love for 
God, and for fear of grieving the Holy 

"One day, upon Robert, the eldest 
brother, declining to join a party of 
pleasure on the following sabbath, a 
friend observed that he had no idea he 
was so changed in his views, and recalled 
to remembrance the time when he had 
made a mockery of religion. 

" ' Yes,* answered Robert; 'but that 
was before Mary taught me to love it.' 

" His sister, who was present, burst 
into tears. 'I never taught you,' said 
she ; ' I have never said a single word on 
the subject God has taught you.' 

" ' It is true that you have never aaid 
a word, my sister ; but your actions have 
spoken for you, and for God.' 

" ' To him be all the glory,' whispered 
Mary, as she kissed him. 

" The brother and sister are now con- 
stantly together ; and Robert is, I think, 
likely to become a decided Christian. If 
it be so, he will always say that he owes 
it, under God, to her influence. And I 
firmly believe that there are others in the 
family who will feel the same ere very 



long. 'To love and vrnh is excellent 
home philosophy.' '* 

What a hlessiDg it is when religion 
enters a family ! it may he in the young- 
est, or the meanest in the house, and 
works, hy God's blessing, like the leaven 
hidden in the meal, until the whole lump 
be leavened. ** Happy families ! " writes 
M'Cheyne ; " but, oh ! how few, where 
parents and children fear the Lord, and 
speak often one to another, and the Lord 
stands by hearkening, and writing down 
their words in his * book of remembrance,' 
wherein be reckons up his jewels." — 
**Isabel; or. Influence,** publUhed by the 
ReUgioits Tract Society, 


In the latter end of the year 1825, and 
during the panic, a clerk was despatched 
from a house in Lombard- street, with 
10,000/., in one-pound Bank of England 
notes, for the relief of a country banker 
in the county of Norfolk. 

The clerk travelled by the mail-coach, 
and took the notes, made up into a 
parcel, in a blue bag. On leaving Lon- 
don, there was no other passenger in the 
coach, and he began to congratulate him- 
self on his good fortune in being alone 
with so large* and valuable a parcel. 

His joy on this account was, however, 
of short duration, for on the coach ar- 
riving at Stratford, two men, muffled up 
in great coats, got into the coach. On 
their entering, the clerk took the parcel, 
which he had previously deposited on the 
seat, and placed it on his lap. This 
movement was observed by the men, who 
soon began to whisper to each other. 
The clerk did not like either their appear- 
ance or their manner; but in order to 
show that he had no fear of them, he 
pretended to be merry, by humming 
several tunes. At last one of the men, 
addressing the clerk, said, *' You are very 
fond of smging, I find ; but why don't 
you put your parcel on the seat ? there is 
room enough. It must surely be very 
valuable, or you would not hug it in the 
way you do." 

This advice was, however, declined by 
the clerk, who said he experienced no 
inconvenience ; but, although he felt no 

• One million of one-pound notes trould, if 

glibced one upon another, reach about 100 feet 
igh^r than the Monument, which is 220 feet in 

inconvenience from the weight of the 

Earcel, the horrible thought came across 
is mind that the two men were thieves, 
and that they intended to commit vio- 
lence on him, and then seize on his 
parcel ; and he was confirmed in his 
opinion by the tenor of the remarks inter- 
changed between them, the whole of 
which were directed to him and his 
parcel; and, although carried on in an 
under tone, his ear caught the following 
words of one of them, in reply to an 
observation of the other : — " Not yet ; 
wait till we get out of Braintree." 

On arriving at that place, the clerk 
felt that he could proceed no further in 
such company : he, therefore, on their 
stopping to change horses, jumped out of 
the coach, and took the guard aside, 
requesting he would take him to the 
banker in the town. This the guard 
said he could not do ; but, on perceiving 
the excitement and agitation of the clerk, 
and understanding that the parcel he 
carried was of considerable value, he con- 
sented to accompany him to the banker, 
who he found bad retired to bed ; but he 
soon made his appearance by opening the 
door, when the clerk flung the parcel 
into his arms, exclaiming, ** It is safe l" 
and immediately fell at his feet in a 
fainting fit. 

This singular scene took the banker 
quite by surprise. He had no means of 
unravelling it: the guard of the mail 
had left the town, and the only party 
who could throw any light upon it lay at 
his feet in a sw6on. However, he soon 
procured aid, and with some restoratives 
the dormant faculties of the clerk were 
reanimated, when he explained to the 
banker the cause of his sudden and unex- 
pected appearance. 

The banker locked up the parcel, and, 
having made up a bed for the clerk, he 
was able, by nine o'clock in the morning, 
to proceed by post-chaise to his destina- 
tion, accompanied by the banker as an 

On subsequent inquiries being made of 
the guard of the mail, it appeared that 
the two men, whose appearance had also 
excited his suspicions, were entirely un- 
known in that part of the country ; and, 
although their places were booked in 
London by another party for the whole 
distance, they both left the coach about 
three miles from Braintree, not stopping 
at any house, or even a village. On 
alighting they exclaimed dreadfully 
against the guard, and walked away : it 



was then about one o'clock in the mom« 
ing. — Lawion's "History of Banking/' 


Many are the besetting sins that win 
their way in human hearts, urging men 
onward in their wild career of lawless 
passion, grasping covetousness, tyranny, 
cruelty, and infidelity; but the most com- 
mon of all sins is selAshness. Other sins 
prevail, but this is universal : 

Some worship power, ambition, glory, pelf, 
Or fleeting fame ; but all bow down to self. 
Self is the god,— the calf of golden ore, — 
The Dagon idol that mankiud adore. 

But common and universal as is this 
sin, every one cries out against it; and 
there are thousands who have credit with 
themselves for benevolence and disin- 
terestedness, whose almost every action 
springs from selfishness. 

Of this large class of people, the Fel tons' 
formed a part, but had such an insinua- 
tion reached their ears, every one of them 
would have indignantly repelled the 
accusation. What ! Mr. Feltcn, the 
churchwarden, who had liberally given a 
perpetual donation to the poor; — Mrs, 
Felton, who had a Dorcas Society under 
her own direction; — and Miss Fanny 
Felton, the maiden sister of Mr. Felton, 
who had well-nigh supported, by her own 
purse, a whole family of poor relations 
for a space of two years! Could there, 
by any possibility, be a particle of selfish- 
ness in their hearts? Impossible! and 
yet, notwithstanding this seeming impos- 
sibility, such was the case. Mr. Felton, 
good easy man, suspected not that a 
churchwarden, in giving a perpetual 
donation to the poor, might have an eye 
to the golden-lettered tablet that would 
be erected in the church to record the ge- 
nerous deed. Mrs. Felton never dreamed, 
not she, that pride could have anything to 
do with her presiding among her friends, 
and dunning her neighbours for subscrip- 
tions to purchase calico shirts and flannel 
petticoats; and still less, if possible, did 
it ever enter the head of Miss Fanny, that 
the delight of dictating to her poor rela- 
tives, and tyranising over^them, could be 
an ingredient in her generosity. No ! if 
any family was free from selfishness, it 
was, in their own estimation at least, the 
family of the Feltons. 

Mr. Felton^ like many others who have 

risen from a humble origin, not having 
Christian principle to keep him lowly, 
became purse-proud, ostentatious, and 
consequential; and though this exposed 
him to the derision of those above him, 
and the hatred of those beneath him, yet 
did he contrive to secure the outward 
manifestations of respect. Mr. Felton 
had a quick eye to everything which had 
a tendency to increase his importance, 
and to this very questionable quality 
might be traced his apparently benevolent 
determination to give to the poor a dona- 
tion of fifty pounds. 

Oh I how deceitful the heart must be 
when it can persuade its possessor that a 
deed of pure selfishness is an act of 
charity and generosity ! When we find 
it is declared in Holy Writ to be " deceit- 
ful above all things and desperately 
wicked," how watchful should we be to 
regulate its emotions ! — how vigilant to 
restrain its selfish propensities I 

When Mr. Felton gave his donation, 
he, of course, modestly and becomingly 
intimated an objection to his name ap- 
pearing in the church, and, of course, 
this objection was, without very great 
difficulty, removed, he being easily con- 
vinced that his neighbours knew much 
better than himself what was proper in 
such a case. The consequence was that, 
with all due despatch, an additional bene- 
faction tablet appeared in the church of 
St. Chad's, setting forth, to wit, that 
Frederick Felton, Esq., of Felton Grange, 
had generously bequeathed the interest of 
fifty pounds to the poor of the parish for 
ever, to be given to them in loaves of 
bread, or other sustenance, on the morn- 
ing of each St. Thomas's day. 

It has been written, 

•' "Who builds a church to God, and not to fame. 
Will never mark the marbls with his name." 

But had Mr. Felton been the builder of 
a church, he would have paid very little 
attention to this poetic exhortation. 

The poor of St. Chad's were unques- 
tionably benefited by Mr. Frederick 
Felton 's donation, but neither was he 
himself without sundry advantages and 
immunities derivable from the same 
source. In the first place, it established 
his reputation for generosity and charity, 
while it defended him from many pecuni- 
ary applications that would have been 
made t.) him had he not given the dona- 
tion. Then there was the grand field- 
day— the day of St. Thomas — in which 
he figured away as commander-in-chief. 



in marsbailing tbe poor, and distributing 
the loaves; and in addition to tbese 
tbings, his pride was greatly gratified, for 
whenever visitors came to his house, they 
were sure to be taken to see the church, 
and when at the church they were equally 
sure to have their attention directed to 
the Benefaction tablet, where the name of 
Frederick Felton, Esq., so ostentatiously 
glittered. Taking one thing with another, 
Mr. Felton was really repaid with usury 
for the outlay of his fifty pounds. 

Mr. Felton read bis prayer-book aloud 
on the Sunday, and he read his Bible at 
bis family devotions ; but there was one 
book that he never could read, and that 
was the book of his own heart. Had one 
page of this sealed volume been opened 
to the eyes of his understanding, he would 
have been afiKghted at its contents, for 
he would have seen that he had not one 
particle of Christian charity. As it was, 
he was altogether ignorant of this truth, 
and the words of the apostle were to 
him unintelligible : ** Though I speak 
with the tongues of men and of angels, 
and have not charity, I am become as 
sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. — 
And though I bestow all my goods to feed 
the poor, and though I give my body to 
be burned, and have not charity, it pro« 
iiteth me nothing." — 1 Cor. xiii. 1, 3. 

But if Mr. Felton, though he always 
applied the t^t especially to himself, 
" Blessed is he which considereth the poor, 
the Lord will deliver him in time of 
trouble," was deficient in true Christian 
charity, it could hardly be said with truth 
that bis fair partner in this respect had 
any advantage over him. Mrs. Felton 
was a lady of some companionable 
qualities ; and as long as she was per- 
mitted to take the lead and have her own 
way, made herself very agreeable. Un- 
happily, however, she had fallen into 
the error of -concluding that everybody 
was bound to support every cause she 
took in band. Had she reflected with 
more judgment, she would have been 
aware that the Christian world undertakes 
a variety of Christian duties, and that it 
is quite lawful for those who have not 
the means of attending to them all, to 
confine themselves to such as they have 
the ability to discharge. 

Mrs. Felton 's hobby was to supply with 
clothing the poor of her own and the 
neighbuuring parishes, and, in further- 
ance of this object, her applications to 
her neighbours were incessant. In these 
applications Mrs. Felton had not the 

slightest compunction or delicacy. She 
bored her way with the same relentless 
obduracy, whether she called on a wealthy 
neighbour, or on one who maintained her 
respectability of appearance by the most 
scrupulous regard to economy. Mrs. 
Felton took no denial. If the lady were 
out she would ''call again;" if she was 
engaged, she would "wait till she was at 
liberty ;" and if at a meal, she would not 
detain her "more than a minute." Thus 
did she not only play the part of a bunch 
of stinging nettles, rendering herself Ob- 
jectionable to all around her, but also in- 
jured the religious character she assumed. 
This was not intended by her, but she 
knew not her own heart, and was blind to 
her own errors. 

Mrs. Felton was so much occupied in 
obtaining funds, and presiding at her 
Dorcas Society, that she manifested little 
judgment in selecting her objects of 
charity, and frequently the evil she in- 
flicted, by obtaining subscriptions of those 
who could not aflbrd to give them, was 
greater tban the good she conferred on 
the recipients of her bounty. Mrs. Felton 
would have met with a formidable rival 
in her husband's sister had not the latter 
occupied a sphere of selfishness exclusively 
her own. 

It has already been intimated that Miss 
Fanny, the maiden sister of Mr. Felton, 
had rendered considerable assistance to a 
family of poor relations. A specimen of 
the spirit in which she carried out her 
kind mtentions to her humbler relatives 
must be given. She had called on the poor 
widow to leave money with her to pay 
her rent, when the following remarks fell 
from her lips : — 

" Now remember, Mrs. Roberts, though 
I pay you your rent this time, I never 
intend to do it again. You and your 
family have cost me no end of money, and 
I do not see that I should support you and 
impoverish myself." 

The poor widow, with her pale face and 
half- broken heart, looked at her pitifully, 
but spoke not a word. 

" Mrs. Rudge, Mrs. Harper, and Mrs. 
Rawlins, all tell me that I do too much 
for you ; that there is reason in all things, 
and that they are quite sure if it had 
not been for me, you and your children 
would before now have been in the work- 

Had Miss Fanny really possessed 
Christian charity, Mrs. Rudge, Mrs. 
Harper, and Mrs. Rawlins would have 
known little, or nothing, about the 



matter ; and had the latter had any proper 
feeling, they would have felt ashamed of 
their hardheartedness. 

'* I see that you have put new rihands 
to the honnet that I gave you. I should 
have thought that the old ribands would 
have done very well, but you know better 
than I do. If you can afford to be always 
buying new ribands, it is more than I can 
do, but it is my duty to tell you, Mrs. 
Roberts, that I shall set my face against 
such silly extravagance." 

It was in vain that Mrs. Roberts meekly 
reminded her tyrannous benefactress that 
when she gave her the bonnet it had but 
one string; and, furthermore, humbly 
informed her that she had not bought the 
ribands, but that they had been given her 
by a kind friend, for this only made things 

''Oh I kind friends, indeed! Then 
you have kind friends have you, Mrs. 
Roberts, who are wilting to supply you 
with finery? You can have very little 
need, then, of my assistance. I wonder 
that your kind friends have never thought 
of paying your rent for you, and making 
you presents of bonnets and gowns, and 
sending you coals and potatoes, as I have 
done. It is high time for me to look 
about me, and see if I cannot find a few 
of the kind friends of which you have so 

After thus oppressing the widow and 
the fatherless, Miss Fanny Felton laid 
down, with very great zeal and very little 
kindness, a multiplicity of sage remarks, 
rules, and regulations, for the benefit of 
Mrs. Roberts, as though, by the extension 
of her purse strings, she had acquired an 
indisputable right to control and direct 
her thoughts, her words, and her deeds. 
She then hastened away to make a call on 
Mrs. Rudge, Mrs. Harper, and Mrs. 
Rawlins, to tell them that, notwithstand- 
ing their friendly counsel, she had been 
foolishly good-natured enough once more 
to pay Mrs. Roberts's rent. 

The delusions of a selfish heart are 
numberless — their "name is Legion;" nor 
can we reasonably hope to escape their 
deceitful influence till, changed by Al- 
mighty power, we become meek and 
lowly followers of the Redeemer : 

His grace and goodness M-ill control 
The grasping passions of the soul ; 
The power of Christian love display, 
And drive the selfish fiend away. 

Neither the popularity of Mr. Felton, 
nor that of his wife and sister, was to last 

for ever ; for, in course of time, another 
churchwarden was appointed. The new 
churchwarden's wife net only took pre- 
cedence of Mrs. Felton, but became also 
a good friend to the poor widow and her 
children. All this was too severe a test 
to the selfish principles of the Felton 
family ; and when they found that they 
could no longer enjoy an undisputed reign 
in their several spheres of action, they at 
once abandoned even the appearance of 
benevolence. Mr. Felton began to litigate 
with the parish to get back again the 
perpetual donation he had given ; Mrs. 
Felton broke up the Dorcas Society ; and 
Miss Fanny Felton altogether withdrew 
her protection and patronage from her 
poor relation. 

We will not for a moment censure Mr» 
Felton for giving fifty pounds to the poor, 
or Mrs. Felton for clothing the needy, or 
Miss Felton for rendering assistance to 
her humble relative; for though alms- 
giving is only one part, it is a very im- 
portant part of Christian charity. The 
error of the Feltons' was in the selfish 
principle from which their acts proceeded* 
Oh ! that, with godly sincerity, we were 
all desirous to be purged of our earthly 
errors, and to be influenced by heavenly 

Christian charity is the very opposite 
of selfishness, for it leads us to practise 
not only kindness, but meekness, forbear- 
ance, and self-denial : "Charity sufiereth 
long, and is kind; charity envieth not; 
charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed 
up, doth not behave itself unseemly, 
seeketh not her own, is not easily pro- 
voked, thinketh no evil ; rejoiceth not in 
iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; 
beareth all things, believeth all things, 
hopeth all things, endureth all things. 
Charity never faileth. And now abideth 
faith, hope, charity, these three, but the 
greatest of these is charity." — 1 Cor. xiii., 
4—8, 13. 

Reader, put to yourself these questions. 
Am I seeking God's glory, or my own ? 
Am I striving to serve others, or myself? 
Is it my desire truly to practise Christian 
charity, or do I belong to the family of 
the Feltons'? G. M. 


Many persons imagine that they can 
make no progress in scientific observa- 
tion, without extensive attainments in 
mathematics, and the use of philosophical 



instruments and chemical apparatus. 
These, doubtless, are important helps to 
observation; they ividen its range and 
test its accuracy. Yet much can be done 
without them. Indeed, there is no situa- 
tion in which the capacity for philoso- 
phical observation cannot be gratified 
with the most satisfactory results. Na- 
ture, indeed, has often to be forced by 
means of experiment, like the subtle and 
changeable Proteus, to declare her se- 
crets ; yet her great features are open to 
all, and invite their study. The barren 
heath, with its mosses, lichens, and in- 
sects, its stimted shrubs and pale flowers, 
becomea a Paradise under the eye of 
observation. To the genuine thinker, the 
sandy beach and the arid wild are full 
of wonders, indicating the presence and 
power of the all-pervading Deity. The 
bare cliff, which has borne the storms of 
innumerable winters, glows with living 
interest under his fixed and ardent gaze. 
Shut him up in a dungeon, and he will 
And pleasure and profit in making the 
acquaintance of spiders and flies, and in 
studying their habits and history. Con- 
fine him to the house, and the light 
streaming in at the windows, the fresh 
dew gathering upon the cold tumbler, 
the steam pouring from the tea-urn, the 
rays shootine like innumerable radii from 
the burning lamp, supply ample materials 
for philosophical observation. 

It is said that the youthful Pascal was 
led into an interesting train of investiga- 
tion by simply noticing the vibratory 
sound made by a tumbler, when struck 
with a knife at the dinner-table. Putting 
his finger upon it, the sound instantly 
ceased, and he never rested till he ascer- 
tained its cause. Throw sand upon the 
surface of a sonorous body, and it will 
arrange itself into regular mathematical 
forms, in correspondence with the nature 
and amount of the vibration. The ob- 
servation of this fact has given rise to an 
interesting train of investigation in the 
science of acoustics. Well has it been 
remarked by an eminent authority, that 
''as truth is single and consistent with 
itself, a principle may be as completely 
and as plainly elucidated, by the most 
familiar and simple fact, as by the most 
imposing and uncommon phenomenon. 
The colours which glitter on a soap- 
bubble are the immediate consequence of 
a principle the most important, from the 
variety of the phenomena it explains, and 
the most beautiful, from its simplicity 
and compendious neatness, in the whole 

science of optics. If the nature of peri- 
odical colours can be made intelligible, 
by the contemplation of such a trivial 
object, from that moment it becomes a 
noble instrument in the eye of correct 
judgment ; and to blow a large, regular, 
and durable soap-bubble may become the 
serious and praiseworthy endeavour of a 
sage, while children stand round and 
scofiT, or children of a larger growth hold 
up their hands in astonishment at such 
waste of time and trouble. To the na- 
tural philosopher there is no natural 
object unimportant and trifling. The 
fall of an apple may raise his thoughts 
to the laws which govern the revolutions 
of the planets in their orbits, or the situa- 
tion of a pebble may afford him evidence 
of the state of the globe he inhabits." 

It is in this way that the Rev. Gilbert 
White, a kind-hearted, old-fashioned 
clergyman, with the fields and gardens 
for his study, collected such a curious 
mass of scientific information, in his 
<* Natural History of Selborne." Though 
its immediate details have reference to 
an obscure hamlet on the borders of a 
barren heath in Hampshire, England, it 
contains a more extensive and accurate 
description of animals than was possessed 
by most of his contemporaries, with much 
superior advantages. The good old man, 
full of love and wisdom, found, in his 
rambles about his parish, 

" Tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, 
Sermons in stones, and good in everything." 

Mechanics in their workshops have 
often made valuable discoveries, by 
simply observing what was going on 
under their eyes. To this we undoubt- 
edly owe the first suggestion respecting 
the telescope. Small spheres of crystal 
or glass had been used by the ancient 
engravers of gems, to aid their sight ; 
and the transition from these to convex 
lenses was made by Salvini Armati, at 
Florence, in 1285. Subsequently, it is 
reported, a person casually looking 
through two of these lenses, in the shop 
of a spectacle-maker, found the building 
to which he directed his eye brought 
within a short distance of the spot where 
he stood. Iodine was discovered in this 
incidental way, not, however, without 
keen and judicious observation and re- 
flection. A soap-boiler observed that 
the residuum of the ley from which was 
extracted the alkali used in the manufac- 
ture of soap, produced a corrosion of his 
copper boiler — a circumstance for which 



he could not aooount. He |>at it into the 
hands of a ■eientific chemist, who ana" 
lyzed it, and hy this means discovered 
the beautiful element to which we have 
referred. This being made the subject 
of further observation and experiment, 
many interesting facts and principles 
were discovered, which have exerted a 
great influence upon chemical science; 
in fact, given a new impulse and direc* 
tion to its investigations. It was recol- 
lected that the ley for making soap was 
derived principally from the ashes of sea- 
plants, and here, consequently, the origin 
of iodine was discovered* It was also 
found in salt water, salt mines, and 
springs, sponges, and other substances of 
a marine origin. Galileo discovered the 
isochronism of the pendulum— a simple 
affair, but one of great importance in 
dynamical science, by observing the re- 
gular swinging of a large lamp in an old 
cathedral church. The polarization of 
light first revealed itself to Malus, in the 
absence of a figure in the painted window 
of the palace of Luxembourg, as he casu- 
ally looked at it one evening through a 
doubly-refracting prism, while the rays of 
the setting sun were streaming through 
the panes. — American Classical Review, 


In our Number for January, we de- 
scribed the preparations made for that 
great Industrial Exhibition, which is at 
present filling the public ear and exciting 
th e most varied expectations. We propose, 
in this paper, to take a glance backwards, 
and inquire what our ancestors were doing 
in England a century ago. Two volumes 
of a magazine for the years 1749 and 
1751 lie before us. As we open them, 
and turn over their venerable pages, the 
hum of modem London seems to die 
away, and a departed world rises to 
our vision. It will interest us all to let 
down the line from the bows of the vessel, 
and to see at how many knots per cen- 
tury society has progressed. Some 
curious illustrations will be found of what 
the wise man uttered nearly three thou- 
sand years ago : ** Is there anything 
whereof it may be said, See, this is new ? 
it hath been already of old time, — which 
was before us." 

The slave-trade is now happily abolished 
in this country, but a century ago it was 
flourishing in all its vigour, giving exhi- 

bitioni of selfishness in its most disgusting 
forms. The story of Inkle and Yarico, 
told in the ** Spectator," has some parallel 
in the following extract, from the vo- 
lumes before us. 

*' Thursday y February, lUh, 1749. 

'' Captain , trafficking on the 

coast of Africa, went up the country, 
where he was introduced to a Moorish 
king, who had forty thousand men under 
his command. This prince being takeo 
with the polite behaviour of the English, 
entertained them with the greatest civi- 
lity, and at last reposed such confidence 
in the captain as to intrust him with 
his son, about eighteen years of age, 
with another sprightly youth, to be 
brought to England and educated in the 
European manner. The captain received 
them with great joy and fair treatment, 
but basely sold them for staves. Shortly 
after, he died, and the ship coming to 
England, the officers related the whole 
affair ; on which the Government sent to 
pay their ransom, and they were brought 
to England. They have since been 
introduced to his majesty, richly dressed 
in the European manner, and were very 
graciously received." 

Many of our readers, when spend- 
ing a summer's holiday at Ramsgate, 
have paced with satisfaction the mas- 
sive pier erected there by the skill of 
Sir John Rennie. A hundred years 
ago, however, a smart controversy was 
raging in the periodicals of the day 
as to the propriety of erecting there a 
pier at all. Thus we read, under date of 
March 9th, 1749. <* There was a great 
meeting of the merchants at the Crown 
tavern; the city representatives were 
present, and the lord mayor was in the 
chair, to concert a plan for erecting a 
pier at Ramsgate." What the result of 
this meeting was does not clearly appear, 
but we find a correspondent warning them 
against the project. '* I am informed," 
he writes, '* that the merchants of London 
have agreed to attempt an harbour at 
Ramsgate ; but besides that this attempt 
is impracticable, the ends proposed would 
not be answered by if, should it succeed." 
As to the impracticability of its erection, 
let the tens of thousands who tread this 
pier every summer reply, as well as the 
fleets of vessels that in winter take shelter 
within it. 

The state of crime is always an inter- 
esting subject of inquiry, in reviewing 



the past, and on this point the volumes 
before us give us copious information. 
Penitentiaries and model-prisons were 
then unknown; tlie gallows-tree at Ty- 
burn was the grand recipe for offences, 
however differing in degrees of aggrava- 
tion. What an entry is the following ! 
" On the 31 St of December, 17 50, fifteen 
malefactors were executed at Tyburn, 
and behaved suitably to their unhappy 
circumstances. Baker was permitted by 
the officers to be carried in a hsckney- 
coaeb, contrary to the sheriffs' orders." 
The narrative of Eogene Aram has often 
arrested attention, as an example of the 
union of great learning with deep de- 
pravity. In the pages before us, we 
have the memorial of another unhappy 
scholar, whose life was forfeited to the 
law. " Monday, 20th of January, 1749, 
were executed at Tyburn for filing gold 
money. Usher Gahagan and two others. 
Gabagan was a very good Latin scholar, 
and editor of Brindiey*s edition of the 
' Classics ; ' he translated Mr. Pope's 
' Essay on Criticism ' into Latin verse." 
Crimes attended with great violence seem 
to have been very common a hundred 
years ago, and modes of punishment 
prevailed at variance with modern ideas 
of propriety. Hanging in chainp, for 
instance, was a frequent penalty ; and we 
have recorded with painful minuteness, 
the execution of a female at Wisbeach, 
with tbe subsequent burning of her body I 
— 1851 is, in these respects, certainly 

Keminiscences occur also in the vo- 
lumes before us of the great Scottish 
rebellion of 1745. Thus we have a long 
document detailing the results of an in- 
quiry by Government as to sir John 
Cope's retreat from the battle of Preston- 
pans; the spot, it may be remembered, 
where colonel Gardiner lost his life. 
Under date, also, of the 11th of January, 
1749, we find the following entry: — 
'* There were conveyed from the new gaol, 
Southwark, to Gravesend, for transporta- 
tion for life, Charles Deacon and William 
Battragh, both of the Manchester r«bel 
regiment, and others. Some of them 
went off with white, others with blue, 
ribbons on their caps." The insecurity 
of property is also evinced, by the attacks 
on the mails, as well as by the various 
parishes in London offering proclamations 
for the apprehension of robbers. Offences 
against tbe revenue laws, too, seem to 
have been very numerous, and attended 
with features of great barbarity. 

Circumstances, affording a curious re- 
semblance to events in our own times, 
appear to have taken place a hundred 
years ago. All London, as we write 
this paper, is on the tiptoe of expectation 
about the new building in the Park. In 
1749, our forefathers were greatly excited 
about a new building, which was erecting 
in St. James's Park for a popular exhi- 
bition, not of industry, however, hut of 
fireworks, at a cost of 14,500/. The 
erection was hesun in November, and 
not completed tSl the 26th of April fol- 

Our old friend Westminster-bridge, 
seems to have given the public some- 
thing of the trouble which it has done in 
our own day. The following notice looks 
more as if it had appeared in the " Times " 
for February 1851, than in a magazine 
for July, 1749. " Wednesday the 19th, 
the workmen begun to drive piles for the 
better securing the foundation of the 
sunk pier of Westminster-bridge. ' ' Under 
date of May the 6th, appears, ** The affair 
of Hanau explained," almost literally, a 
title that would have suited many an 
article in the London newspapers last 
autumn. The discovery of a north-west 
passage is now a quAtion, filling the pub- 
lic mind with melancholy interest, in 
connection with the fate of sir John. 
Franklin and his crew. A hundred years 
ago our forefathers, over their coffee, 
read the announcement, that Mr. Ellis, 
having made the probability of a north- 
west passage apparent to the lords of the 
admiralty, would be sent out to search 
for it, early in the spring of 1750, with 
three sloops of war. ** The riots of Re- 
becca and her daughters," for the de- 
struction of turnpikes, is not a very old 
story. It happened only a few years 
ago. In July 1749, the country was 
alarmed by tumults in Somersetshire, for 
a similar purpose. *' On the 26th inst.," 
we read, '^between ten and eleven at 
night, a prodigious body of people came 
with drums beating and loud shouts, some 
disguised in womens apparel, and de- 
molished the turnpike erections newly 
fixed." Not to be tedious with our list 
of historical parallels, we may only re- 
mind our readers that the practice of 
interment in churches was loudly repro- 
bated during the late visitation of the 
cholera. In the volumes before us, we 
find the same practice ably argued against, 
nearly the same arguments being ad- 
duced ! Alas ! how slow is the march of 
sanitary wisdom. One anecdote, in con- 



nection with this suhject, is worthy, how- 
ever, of being resuscitated from the 
columns in which it has so long been 
slumbering. " In St. Stephen's church- 
yard, at Paris, we are told, lies a phy- 
sician who was so convinced how noxious 
bur3'ing in churches was to health, that, 
by his own direction, he was buried in 
the churchyard, with this epitaph : * As I 
have hurt nobody while I was living, I 
wish to hurt nobody now that I am 

Did time permit us, we might advert 
to many other interesting points of com- 
parison at greater length, but we have, 
perhaps, already fully tried the antiqua- 
rian taste of our readers. As regards 
politics, we may only add, that the 
notices of them, in the volumes before 
us, are few and scanty. The dread of a 
government prosecution is shown by the 
fact of the names of public men being 
generally veiled under initials. The 
literary tone of the articles is also very 
inferior to that of similar publications in 
our own day, and is tinged occasionally 
with a coarseness which would not now 
for a moment be tolerated. The poetry, 
in particular, is fiat and insipid. We 
have looked for some specimen of it, to 
present to our readers, but can ^nd 
nothing better than the following. The 
sentiments may perhaps excuse the me- 
diocrity of the versification : 



" With the old year may the old man be gone, 
And with the new may I the new put on. 
Oh, to supply new time, new grace be Thine, 
New heart, new spirit, and new life be mine. 
" Cynthio, January Ut, 1749." 

Cynthio has long since entered a state, 
where divisions of time are unknown. 
We trust from the above, however, that 
he ''so numbered his days as to apply 
his heart unto wisdom." 

Interesting, we may add in conclusion, 
it is to notice, bearing all the freshness 
as of yesterday, advertisements of new 
books, long since become motheaten ; 
notices of bankruptcies, births, deaths, 
and marriages, and promotions in church, 
state, and law. Multiplied were the 
emotions that each of these, in their day, 
excited, but death has hushed them all ! 
Among these advertisements, however, 
we still read with curiosity the first 
announcement of one of Dr. Johnson's 
best poetical productions. It is as fol- 
lows, "The Vanity of Human Wishes; 
being the 10th satire of Juvenal, imitated 

by S. Johnson. Price Is. Dodsley." The 
notices of marriage are also curious, as 
the amount of the lady's wedding portion 
is generally given. Take for instance, — 
''January 15th, 1751, Mr. Hyde, dyer, 
in Spitalfields, to the only daughter of 
Charles Monson, a celebrated beauty, 
with 15,000/." Miss Monson's charms 
are now, alas, faded enough. The entry 
immediately following has a historical 
interest. "January the 18 th, 1751. The 
Rev. John Wesley, Methodist preacher, to 
a merchant's widow in Threadneedle- 
street, with a jointure of 300/. per an- 
num ! " This was that marriage which 
proved so ill-assorted, and which had 
well-nigh marred Wesley's usefulness. 
The lady, it is said, wished him to 
give over preaching, and a separation 

Turning to the register of deaths, we 
select only two ; the first for its curiosity, 
the second for its interest to all who 
value evangelical piety. "June the 2nd, 
1751, died. The Old Soldier ; known by 
that name, and by his constant attendance 
for many years on Divine service in St. 
Paul's Cathedral, where he was much 
respected and honoured with an upper 
seat He was a trooper in Queen Anne's 
wars, and always behaved well." "26th 
of January, 1751, died, the Rev. Philip 
Doddridge, d.d., of a consumption of the 
lungs, at Lisbon." A long eulogium 
follows, which we have not room to 
extract. Our readers will scarcely re- 
quire us to add, that this was the amiable 
author of the " Rise and Progress of 
Keligion in the Soul," — a work which 
led to the conversion, amongst others, of 
the late eminent William Wilberforce, 

And now, days of our forefathers, we 
bid you adieu. There is much in your 
retrospect to show that social progress 
has been made, but still more, however, 
to prove that, in every age, human nature, 
when unrenewed by Divine grace, has the 
same unmistakable features. 

One sentiment, in closing the volume, 
forces itself upon our notice with solemn 
prominence. Where are those now, 
whose daily life is so vividly chronicled 
in the memorials before us? All have 
passed into eternity. Momentous thought! 
Unspeakable reality I Those who trifled 
away, and those who improved the great 
seed time, are now reaping their respective 
rewards ! All, if resuscitated to life, and 
asked what was the one thing needful, 
would reply, not wealth, not honours, not 



fame, but the care of the soul ! — a liviug 
faith in the Son of God, evidenced by a 
holy and a god]y life. £. Y, 


When first approaching Naples in the 
road from Rome, we beheld a white 
column of smoke rising high up into the 
pure and sunny atmospiiere. '*See/' said 
a gentleman who accompanied us from 
Rome ; " there is Vesuvius." 

We regarded it with curiosity, but with 
a strong sense of disappointment. It was 
curious, indeed, to see the smoke when 
# we knew it proceeded from internal fire ; 
but without that knowledge it would not 
have presented any extraordinary spec- 

The day had been intensely hot, and 
tired of so long a journey, we longed, on 
our arrival at Naples, for the shades of 
evening to refresh us. They came, and 
I went out upon a stone platform, on 
which opened the window of my room at 
the top of the house, to enjoy the freshen* 
ing air and lovely view of the Bay, over 
which the softened light of retiring day 
was yet lingering, and blending gradually 
with the clearer one of the rising moon. 
Then first I beheld the fire of Vesuvius ; 
a dark red spot on the mountain side, 
issuing from an orifice near to the crater, 
but not from the crater itself. It was 
not a blaze, but a deep burning light, 
seen through and behind the mists which 
followed the departure of the sun. 

I went to call my friends to see it: 
some delay took place in finding them, 
and when I came back to the platform, 
an exclamation of wonder ana delight 
broke from us all. That dark red spot 
of light had, apparently, spread out, or 
flowed on into a long wide stream; to 
have descended the entire length of the 
great cone, and reached the plain below. 
It was only the increasing gloom that 
rendered it visible. 

The beautiful aspect of Vesuvius by 
night, as well as the intense heat of the 
weather, determined us to choose that 
time for its ascent ; indeed, we could have 
attempted it at no other.- That night was 
one which I shall not forget, and I bless 
God who gave me the capacity of mind, 
as well as of body, to enjov it. 

The form of Vesuvius is remarkable : 
it has two summits, and rises in a gentle 
swell from the sea-shore. The lower 
region, or base of the mountain, presents 

a strong contrast to the upper. At five 
o'clock on a charming afternoon, we left 
Naples in a carriage, hoping to traverse 
this lower region in time to see the sun 
set from the more elevated one. We 
engaged the carriage to carry us to the 
Hermitage, situated at that part of the 
mountain from which the real difHculty 
of the ascent begins ; for it is an instance 
of the rare facilities which our times 
afford to exploring travellers, that a car- 
riage-road, rather diflUcult, but perfectly 
practicable, has been made upon Mount 
Vesuvius ; a circumstance which produces 
much indignation, and meets with great 
opposition, from the numerous guides 
and conductors whose business it was to 
supply mules and ponies for that pur- 

The road has not been formed solely 
for the convenience of curious travellers: 
an observatory has been erected on Mount 
Vesuvius, and a carriage-road on this 
account has been made up to the Hermit- 
age, which may be said to terminate the 
first of the two distinct regions into which 
the mountain is divided. 

The whole base of the mountain pre- 
sents scenery of the richest and most 
luxuriant, as well as cultivated nature. 
The productive vines, orange-trees, figs, 
pomegranates, and numerous plants and 
trees which are exotics to our clime,* 
bordered the road, and gave it additional 
interest, while every advancing step 
opened to us a more charming prospect, 
as the lovely plain from which we 
ascended, the bay with its islands of 
historic and classic celebrity, and the busy 
town of Naples with its villas and gardens, 
became more revealed to us, bathed in the 
richness of a rapidly sinking sun. 

What a contrast was this to the upper 
region of the same mountain ! A scene 
of perfect desolation : an immense cone, 
flat on the top, and formed almost entirely 
of ashes and cinders, which in the ascent 
yield to the foot that toils up it, traced on 
all sides by broad black lines, the marks 
which the burning lava has left, and 
which can be distinctly seen at a con- 
siderable distance. There is here no 
vegetation, no trace of life: nothing but 
the ceaseless volcano appears to be in 

Vesuvius has not always been ascended 
by travellers when in the excited state in 
which we visited it. Many persons have 
recorded their entrance into the crater, or 
at least their inspection of it, and the 
common feat of throwing stones into it. 



An approach to that crater in the night 
I describe would probably -have been 

It presented to our eyeg a glowing 
mass, over which a fiery shower was 
almost constantly descending, forming a 
spectacle which, in the gloom and still- 
ness of night, was at once grand and 
terrific. My anxious desire was to get to 
the lava stream, which I had watched 
from my window, and the representations, 
and I am almost ashamed to say en- 
treaties, of some of our party, could not 
dissuade me from the attempt. We left 
our carriage at the Hermitage, singularly 
miscalled, and I was mounted on a mule, 
which took me along a path about three 
quarters of a mile further on, while the 
gentlemen proceeded on foot. The guides 
were provided with large torches, per- 
haps eight feet long ; at the spot where 
I dismounted these were lighted, and the 
glare they flung around revealed the most 
singular scene I ever beheld. 

A field of blocks of lava, of that dark 
colour it assumes when cold, lay stretched 
beside us ; ashes, cinders, and those sharp, 
hard masses, covered the whole space, up 
to the cone, from whose red summit the 
pillar of flame shot out in fitful variations, 
while fiery stones descended from the 
skies they had been thrown to, and fell, 
sometimes back into the burning crater, 
sometimes beyond it; glowing ashes, 
more like sparkles from blazing wood, 
dispersing around, difitised a fiery light 
on the midnight sky, and red-hot cinders 
made the outside of the crater one bril- 
liant, and apparently burning, though not 
blazing mass. 

It was over this field of lava I was to 
walk. Our guide said it was impossible 
I could do it, and offered to remain with 
me while the stronger members of our 
society visited the living lava in my stead. 
But, as I saw the man would be glad of 
any excuse to get off the toil of an expedi- 
tion for which he was paid, but which he 
had to make too often, I would not yield 
to his persuasions, but, on the contrary, 
persuaded myself that interested motives 
induced him to influence my friends 
against my accomplishing my desire. I 
set out on the blocks of lava with a good 
heart, for I firmly believed that a path 
had been made through them, and would 
soon be found; a delusion which, I 
believe, enabled me to effect my object ; 
for had I known that I was really to walk 
for more than a mile on the sharp, hard, 
unsteady blocks, almostlike pointed irons 

to the feet, up ridges and into furrows, 
guided only by the fitful light of torches, 
for the moon had not then risen — ^had I 
known this from the beginning, I fear I 
should not have persisted, but turned 
back with the less reluctant guide, as I 
had promised to do if weary. How like 
is this to the pathway of life! How 
many would shrink from tracing all its 
steps, if they knew the end from the 
beginning ! Better is it to be led on in 
ignorance, trusting that as our day is, so 
shall our strength be. Weary, indeed, I 
was, and several times ready to give up ; 
but some little assistance, some kind 
solicitude, or some encouraging words, 
again cheered me to go onward. 

At length, the increasing heat told of 
our approach to the fiery region ; the air 
was sulphurous, and gave a choking 
sensation ; it was also loaded with smoke. 
The ground grew hotter and hotter ; we 
mounted a ridge of cinders, and there, at 
the other side, I beheld my lava stream. 
I stood beside it, on the brink of the bed 
it had tracked for itself. It was a river 
of fire, about thirty feet broad, slowly 
moving on; over the top was heard a 
slight fizzing sound, just such as cinders 
make. A light smoke rose from it, but 
much less than might be expected. 

The ground was so hot, and my feet so 
sore, thAt I found it impossible to stand 
for a moment on one spot. My shoes 
were almost entirely burned off. One of 
my friends, catching my hand, caused me 
to bend over the stream to see the lava 
in motion ; I could only compare it to a 
thick muddy stream on fire, and moving 
through masses of matter spread over the 
surface. But as I bent over it, the op- 
pressive atmosphere suddenly overcame 
me ; I felt a dizziness and sense of faint- 
ness, and, catching the arm of the guide, 
precipitately descended the ridge of 
cinders that bounded my lava stream, 
and hid myself from it with still more 
eagerness than I had sought it. 

It required, indeed, some fortitude to 
conceal my state, or to struggle against 
yielding to it; but, aware of the conster- 
nation which I should occasion, I was 
enabled to do both, and sat quietly on a 
block of lava out of sight, till the effect 
of the heat and suffocation had passed 
away. After a walk of equal toil, occupy- 
ing at least an hour in returning, as it 
had done in going, we once more arrived 
on smooth ground, and when I saw my 
mule patiently awaiting my return, I waz 
too glad to mount to my former seat. 



leaving the gentlemen to continue their 
way alone to the summit of the cone, 
where several oarties, hoth of ladies and 
gentlemen, had preceded them, attended 
by chairs and porters, and guides with 
leathern straps round their waists, in 
which a feebler traveller being inclosed, 
he or she is nulled up by the stronger 
animal. I did not covet either mode of 
ascent, and, as they could not approach 
the crater, I knew they could not have so 
good a view of it as I had from a lower 
station : at least self-love comforted itself 
with such conclusions, as I wandered back 
alone to the Hermitage. 

The moon had risen in all its bright- 
ness ; it was about half-past one o'clock 
in the morning, and its unclouded pre- 
sence more than supplied the absence of 
the milder light of the uncertain torches 
which the party had taken with them. 
As their voices died away, and the shouts 
of the guides calling to their fellows 
became fewer and more distant, I was 
glad to find the Italian youth who was my 
cicerone, noisy as all natives of Naples 
are, had loitered behind with some chance 
comrade ; for I enjoyed the silence of the 
hour and strange splendour of the scene 
too much to wish to have it broken by 
such nonsense as he had been addressing 
to his mule, to which he gave the favourite 
title of Macaroni. 

In quiet musing I rode along, and 
might nave gone too far ; for the mule, 
deserted by its master, and left by me to 
its own guidance, took a wrong path. 
The shouts of the noisy Italian, as he 
missed me from the right one, apprised 
me of the fact ; he came running after his 
Macaroni, and guided both wanderers 
back. I began to think that meditation 
and musing, at midnight, were not suit- 
able to Mount Vesuvius; an idea that 
was not removed on my entrance into the 
court of the Hermitage, which was filled 
with donkeys, ponies, guides, carriages, 
and servants. There I was joined by two of 
the gentlemen whom I had left, and who 
finding themselves sufficiently fatigued 
by their walk to the lava stream, had fol- 
lowed me back. 

Thirsty and tired, we entered the 
Hermitage, thinking it to be, as in fact it 
is, an inn which went by that name ; I 
was, however, rather surprised to find the 
owner of the house to be a calm, respect- 
able-looking monk; his grave counte- 
nance, brown frock, cord, rosary, and 
crucifix, agreeing ill with the aspect of 
the place, .which was incessantly filled 

with parties going to, and coming from, 
the scene we had left. 

At a table in the scantily-furnished 
room sat a comfortable*looking priest, 
with some bread, cheese, apples, and a 
bottle of common wine before him. We 
were glad to join in his supper. He in- 
formed us that he was the chaplain 
who said mass in the adjoining chapel, 
and he smiled good-humouredly when 
I asked if that house were really a her- 

"Certainly," he replied; "and there 
is the hermit," nodding his head to where 
the monk sat at a distance. 

" A solitary? " I persisted. 

" Yes," he answered, with a laugh, " a 
solitary who is in society." 

It was a singular scene and a singular 
place. There were some young Germans 
and Italians present, and the conversation 
that ensued was only broken up by the 
advance of the grave and silent hermit, 
whose voice I did not hear, and who now 
in silence, and with gravity, approached 
the table, removed the bottle of wine, and 
replaced it by another, adding, also, a 
fresh supply of the bread, cheese, and 
apples. This movement we took as a 
hint that our part of the repast was over, 
and the table prepared for other guests. 
The priest withdrew, and the party sepa- 
rated. For my part, I retired to the 
carriage, fell asleep, and forgot that I was 
on Mount Vesuvius, until awakened by 
the voices of our absent friends, whose 
fatigue scarcely allowed them power to 
mount into the carriage. It was th^n 
three o'clock, and that last exertion made, 
it was at once put in motion, and pre- 
ceded by our guide, carrying a flaming 
torch, we began to descend on our return 
to Naples. Before we reached it, the 
sun had risen on our heavy and dazzled 

I have put this little sketch on paper 
while its subject is still fresh on my mind, 
and shall I not add a few lines drawn 
from the reflections to which my midnight 
excursion gave rise ? A scene so grand 
and terrific must, one would think, fill 
every mind with solemn thoughts. The 
destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah was 
brought before me, as I viewed the 
gloomy vestiges of what was once the 
ancient city of Herculaneum ; and perhaps 
there is no other scene more calculated 
to convey an idea of the doom which the 
Scriptures either describe or predict. 
Some authors conjecture that not more 
than 20,000 persons have perished in the 



several eruptions — about forty — wliich 
are known to have taken place of Mount 
Vesuvius. This number is probably 
greatly underrated ; yet the very idea of 
one of these fiery devastations, of the 
overthrow of a single town or village, fills 
us with horror. We wonder at the hardi- 
hood, or indifference, that suffers people 
to dwell happily and at ease just beneath 
that burning crater. Yet what is our 
own position in this world ? What is it 
to the careless and godless dwellers 
therein, but a vast volcano, their resting- 
place whereon is a thousand times more 
insecure than that of the dweller on 
Vesuvius? There an earthquake may 
prove the signal for flight, the groans of 
the working mountain may give a timely 
warning ; but of a more awful destruction 
we are told that it shall come suddenly, 
in a moment, as a thief in the night, 
even when men are saying, ^' Peace and 
safety I " 

''Peace and safety!" these are sweet 
words, but applicable only to the Christian, 
to the man, woman, or even child, who 
has found peace and safety in the salva- 
tion of Jesus Christ. The Redeemer is 
the ark of refuge. Oh ! it is well if we 
are hid in him when the " blast of the 
terrible one is as a storm against the 
wall." There is no salvation in any other. 
Happy is it to know that such is the case, 
else we might be weary in seeking, and 
disappointed in finding that peace and 
safety which he offers. But there it 
salvation in Jesus Christ ; and trembling 
in fear, burdened with sin, or overwhelmed 
with sorrow, we can hear his voice saying, 
" Come unto me," and hope that, kept by 
his love and power, we shall find peace 
and safety even in that hour which 
shall try all them that dwell upon the 
earthk — Fnym the " Christian Garland" 
just published by the Religious Tract 


How beneficent is the Creator! He 
has not only adapted the earth to bring 
forth the nutritious grain for the support 
of life, and the rich and mellow fruits to 
regale the palate, but has bedecked the 
fields with flowers of beautiful and 
varied colours, to please the eye and 
refresh with their odours. We had 
almost termed these the luxuries of his 
providence. He might have sustained 
our natures without them; but had he 

withheld them, of what a source of plea- 
sure had we been deprived ! God made 
the mountains, and m them we behold 
the exhibition of his majesty ; he made 
the flowers, and in them we see his con- 
descending goodness. Look at them in 
all their diversity of conformation, in all 
the delicacy of their tints, and in the 
sweetness of their fragrance; look at 
them displaying their beauties in the 
woods, by the gurgling brook, over the 
broad prairie, and you hear them pro- 


The hand that made us is Divine I " 

Nay, they speak in more tender accents 
to man of the love of that Divine Being 
who would thus attract the thoughts of 
his inconsiderate and rebellious creatures. 
Sweet flowers! I had rather gaze on 
you than on all the gorgeous trappings 
of the royal court; I had rather court 
your acquaintance than that of earthly 
princes! Chaste and beautiful compa- 
nions, in your society I avert my eye 
from the vicious indulgences pursued by 
others, and think of Him that formed you. 
My beautiful ornaments ! less costly but 
more valued than the fantastic trinkets 
of the jeweller. In my window, in my 
garden, on my table, ever welcome; 
your bloom reminding me of the paradise 
above, and even your falling leaf bring- 
ing to mind the wholesome remembrance 
that from this scene of things I am pass- 
ing away. Bring me flowers, fresh flow- 
ers, to be admired and loved for their 
Maker's sake, to awaken within me a 
source of innocent delight. When I see 
the eyes of the young kindle with plea- 
sure whilst gazing upon these lovely 
objects, I pray that such tastes may 
never be supplanted by grosser ones; 
and when I behold the aged taking 
pleasure in them, I am thankful that 
their rough experience of the world has 
not rendered them so obdurate as to 
quench this delicate sensibility. — Pres- 


A man of subtle reasoning ask'd 

A peasant, if he knew 
Where was the internal evidence 

That proved the Bible true ? 
The terms of disputative art 

Had never reach'd his ear ; 
He laid his hand upon his heart, 

And only answered, '' Here I " 


The elk is Ihe moat bulky of all the 
animals of Che deer kind. It baa been 
erroneously supposed to prefer northerri 
latitudes, being found in Europe between 
the 53rd and 65th degrees— a circuit em- 
braciag part of PruBsia, Poland, Sweden, 
Norway, Finland, Lapland, and Ruasia, 
In Asia, it it found mucb further south. 

namely from the SSth to the 20th de^ii 

spreading over the vast regions of lar- 

tary, and even lo the Japanese Islands. 

Ip America, its residence is comprised 
between the 44th and 53rd degrees, com- 
prehending the countries round all the 
great lakes, as far south as the river 
Ohio, the whole of Canada, the isle of 
Cape Breton, Nova Scotifi, and the coun- 
try bordering on the bay of Fundy. 

The male elk is about the size of a 
horse, having very broad heavy horns, 
■ometimei weighing not lets than 50 lbs.; 
■he female is smaller, and without boms, 
The male sometimes attains the height 
of seventeen hands, and even more ; and 
one shot many years ago in Sneden 
weighed 1,200 lbs. The head la long and 

narrow, and the neck short and strong, is 
well adapted to support the heavy burden 
which it has to bear. The swollen ap- 
pearand of the face about the nostrib, 
the thick neck, sunken eye, contracted 
forehead, large nostrils, square overhang- 
ing lip, long asinine ears, and shaggy 
throat, are in this animal great draw- 
backs from those elegant proportions 
which are so much admired in the rest of 
the deer tribe. In his naUve foretts, how- 
ever, and in his wild state, no quadruped 
has a more meieatic aspect then the elk 
on account of his size, the beauty of his 
horns, the compactness of his round short 
body, and the clean firm figure of hit 

The elk frequents cold but woody 
regions, in the forests of which it can 
readily browse ou the lower branches and 
suckers of trees; its peculiar structur» 
rendering grazing an inconvenient and 
even painful action. In winter, when 
the snow sets in, and when the wolves in 



and warmth in forests of pines and other 
evergreens. These herds consist of seve- 
ral families, the members of which keep 
very close together. In the severest 
frosts, they press one against another, or 
trot in a large circle till they have trodden 
down the snow. 

Their favourite food when the winter 
proves severe is the stinking trefoil, the 
buds and bark of the buttonwood, birch, 
and maple-trees, etc. They browse against 
an ascent in preference to level ground, 
which, owing to their lonj; legs and sji^ort 
neck, they cannot easily reach. Jn sum- 
mer, to escape the torment of gnats and 
other insects, they taj:e to the water, and 
swim great distances with ease; ahd 
these excursions enable them to gratify 
their almost ravenous appetite for various 
species of aquatic plants. 

In 1823, a Swedish elk, of extraordinary 
size, was brought to this country. Though 
then only two years old, it had attained 
the height of seven feet at the shoulders, 
and it is ascertained that this animal does 
not arrive at its full growth till its fifth 
year. A Swedish farmer, who took it in 
1821 in a forest on the coast of Norway, 
so far domesticated it that it would draw 
a sledge, and take food from the hands 
of his children. It was bought by Mr. 
Wise, the British consul, at Gottenburg, 
and landed at Harwich; but, unfortu- 
nately one of its legs was broken in the 
attempt to remove it to the park of sir 
R. Henniker, its final destination, and the 
noble beast died shortly afterwards. Its 
speed, like that of its whole tribe, was 
almost incredible. 

The elk is easily domesticated. It will 
follow its keeper to any distance from 
home, and return with him at his call. 
Hearne informs us that an Indian at the 
factory of Hudson's Bay, had in the year 
1777, two elks so tame that when he was 
passing in a canoe from Prince of Wales' 
Fort, they always followed him along the 
bank of the river, and at night, or when- 
ever he landed, they came and fondled 
on him in the same manner as the most 
domesticated animal would have done, 
and never attempted to stray from the 
tents. One day, however, crossing a 
deep bay in one of the lakes, in order to 
save a very circuitous route along its 
bank, he expected that the animals would 
follow him round as usual, but at night 
they did not arrive, and as the howling 
of wolves was heard in that quarter where 
they were, it is supposed that the elks 
were destroyed by ihem, (tjX they were 

never seen afterwards. — H, ShorherVa 
History of Quadrupeds, 


ExiiiE into Siberia is the common 
punishment accorded by the laws of 
Russia to crimes of almost every degree 
of turpitude. The petty pilferer and 
mere vagrant, as well as the highway 
robber and remorseless murderer, are 
alike condemned to exile. There appears 
to be a twofold object in making this the 
common penalty for crime; one is the 
supply of the necessary quantity of men 
to work in the mines, — for in this de- 
partment of labour volunteers are un- 
known in Siberia. Another object is the 
colonization of a vast and fertile, but 
very thinly populated country, by the 
surplus of the population of European 

This general penalty of exile, of course, 
embraces a very wide scale of degrees 
in point of severity, according to the 
atrocity of the individual crime in the 
eye of the law or of the judge. In its 
lightest form, it is that of mere banish- 
ment during tbe emperor *s pleasure ; in 
its severest shape, however, it is attended 
with being knouted without mercy, and 
labour in chains for life, in the mines of 
Nertchinsk or Kamtschatka, where the 
climate is most unhealthy. In the latter 
places, the exiles are much at the mercy 
of their overseers and inferior officials 
(who are often tyrants and extortioners), 
and are little provided with comforts and 
facilities for their work, in consequence 
of the distance to which they are removed 
from the seat of government and civiliza- 
tion. Other exiles are condemned to 
labour for only a limited number of years 
at establishments which are better con- 
ducted than those just alluded to, the 
labour being much easier, and the con- 
victs having better pay as well as being 
allowed to rest on alternate days or weeks. 
Passing over, however, these minor cases, 
we will now proceed to give a sketch 
of the miserable existence of an exile 
doomed to labour in irons for life in the 
mines of Nertchinsk. We commence 
from the period of bis condemnation. 

The first step is the dreadful one of 
being flogged with the knout '^ without 
mercy;" a process too fearful, and too 
painful, for the writer minutely to de- 



scribe. The knout is an apparatus of 
torture, to witness one stroke of which, 
even on a thick board, makes the spec- 
tators shudder, for it can cut a hollow 
across the wood, deep enough to bury the 
thumb in. To touch it is deemed an 
abomination, which marks the horror in 
which it is held by a people accustomed 
to corporal punishments. To a handle 
of wood about a foot in length, and hard 
woven round with leather, is attached a 
stout and heavy thong, fastened in the 
manner of a flail, over which is laid a 
broad strip of buirs hide, well dried or 
hardened in an oven, full a quarter of an 
inch thick, looking just like pliable horn, 
very long and tapering to a point. The 
criminal, stripped of clothes, is firmly 
fastened by ropes to an upright block of 
wood, three or four feet high, having 
three cavities at the top, one for the 
neck, and the others for the arms. The 
executioner places himself about four 
paces from the culprit, puts the thong 
between his legs, and then seizing the 
handle with both hands, and stepping 
two paces forward, raises the terrible im- 
plement. We must leave what follows 
to our readers to conceive. After ten 
strokes, the sufferer's cry dies away into 
groans, and he becomes senseless. Thou- 
sands of spectators are generally around, 
yet an awful silence prevails, so that each 
successive stroke is heard distinctly at a 
distance. When the appointed number 
of lashes has been iuflictea,^the apparently 
lifeless body is unbound, taken by the 
beard and thrown on its back, and an 
instrument, like a brush, with iron teeth, 
describing the letters V O R,* is stamped 
on the forehead. What a comment is 
this awful punishment, on a thrilling 
passage of Scripture, " the servant that 
knew his Lord's will and did it not, shall 
be beaten with many stripes,'' 

The second stage of the exile's life, is 
the journey of seven thousand miles, 
which after such an inauguration is a 
fearful one to be accomplished on foot, 
in all weathers, resting only during the 
nights, and perhaps for a few days in the 
prmcipal towns along the road, where 
the prisons afford ampler room as well 
as better security against desertion. The 
convict gang generally consists of from 
thirty to fifty individuals, most of whom 
are in chains. It is a terrible sight which 

* The Russian word, vor^ like the Latin, /wr, 
means "thief or robber;" though the idea now 
associated with or conveyed by the Russian word 
is that of a " condemned thief or robber." 

the traveller on the highway has fre- 
quently to encounter. Never have we 
witnessed frames apparently so worn-out 
and emaciated, and countenances so woe- 
begone, except in the mines themselves. 
To tell, or even to appreciate the miser- 
able feelings of which these men must he 
the subjects, is well nigh impossible ! To 
be torn rudely away from the hearts and 
persons of those whom they loved, to be 
degraded, even in their own estimation, 
by the ruthless treatment they receive 
from the representatives of society, to be 
made a butt for scorn, the subject of the 
lowest despotism of petty officials, and to 
be placed in a position where, humanly 
speaking, there can be no means, no in- 
ducements, no hopes of reformation ; — 
such is the dreadful condition into which 
these men, once full of promise, have 
precipitated themselves. Well may we 
exclaim, O Sin, how dreadful have been 
thy ravages on the happiness of the 
children of men ! 

It is quite a characteristic feature on 
the Siberian highway, that at every post 
station there is a prison, bristling with 
the sharp pointed tops of the very high 
wall of upright logs, by which it is 
inclosed. The walls rise considerably 
above the roof of the prison itself, which 
is a square building of wood, containing 
only one large apartment, with no furni- 
ture except rude forms and benches, of 
which the prisoners avail themselves for 
sleeping on, especially when the ground, 
which is not floored, is damp. There is 
a severe and gloomy air — a terrible 
aspect of stern vengeance about the whole 
building, corresponding too well with the 
purpose for which it is used. In the 
larger towns, the jails are of brick, but 
are surrounded, also, by a high wall, . 
flanked with lofty towers, like ancient 
fortresses. All prisoners, without any 
discrimination, are stuffed into one apart- 
ment, which has no ventilation, and the 
air of which is consequently impregnated 
with pestilence and disease, for, in ad- 
dition to the impure breath exhaled by 
its inmates, their persons, garments, and 
habits, are filthy in the extreme. 

At last the exile manages to reach the 
place of his destination. Nertchinsk is 
in the governmentor province of Irkutsk, 
on the eastern side of the Lake Baikal, 
not quite a thousand miles from the 
city of Irkutsk. Though honoured with 
the distinguished name of a city, Nert- 
chinsk has nothing in its appearance to 
entitle it to so lofty an appellation. Its 

1 2 



aspect is that of a very large and widely 
scattered village, badly built, badly situ- 
ated, and poverty-stricken. The site is 
very bleak and exposed. The place 
forma the central depot of the mining 
district, where the authorities and officials 
reside, and whither are brought all the 
produce of the numerous mines and 
fabrics round the city. The Bolshoi 
Zavod, or grand fabric, is to the east of 
the city, and may be pronounced to be 
one of the gloomiest spots that darkens 
the face of the earth. A vast assemblage 
of rude and dirty huts is scattered over a 
black surface, situated in a deep hollow, 
and surrounded by high and barren rocks. 
The number of men, who are able-bodied, 
and actually engaged in the mines here, 
is about three thousand, who are guarded 
by about a thousand officials, the business 
of the latter being to see that the convicts 
are kept incessantly at work, and to pre- 
vent them secreting any gold, silver, or 
precious stones, as well as to take pre- 
cautions against their escape. 

The criminals are not allowed to work 
in the fields or woods, for fear of desert- 
ing. Hence, for the six months of win- 
ter, when the mines cannot be wrought, 
they are kept in their huts in absolute 
idleness. Their appearance is fitted only 
to deepen the painful feelings which 
the surrounding scene awakens in the 
mind. They look haggard and worn 
out. The allowance of provisions, in- 
deed, is far too scanty to invigorate and 
strengthen them for that hard labour, 
which they have to endure in the bowels 
of the earth from sunrise to sunset. Of 
this the reader may judge, when he learns 
that the annual sum given to each con- 
vict to procure food, raiment, and firing, 
is only thirty-six roubles, or twenty-seven 
shillings ! After all, what are the knout, 
the brand, and the fetter, to this process 
of slow death ? No means are used, no 
motives are presented for their reform- 
ation. Even the privileges and consola- 
tions of religion, which should be acces- 
sible to all, but most especially to the 
wretched and the lost, are positively 
denied to them. The law expressly for- 
bids their using the Scriptures, entering 
the precincts of a church, or resting from 
their toils on the sabbath-day. As might 
be expected, under such circumstances, 
the wretched criminals gradually lose 
sight of their own turpitude, and harden 
their hearts against all gentle impressions. 
They suspect and hate each other, adopt- 
ing every means to inflict mutual annoy- 

ance. A lively but affecting image does 
such a state of society seem to present, of 
that more awful condition, which awaits 
a lost spirit in another existence. The 
constant mortality among the convicts 
sufficiently evinces the horrors of the 
place. The man who is destined to drag 
out the remainder of his days in Nert- 
chinsk, cannot live long. Many thou- 
sands are annually sentenced to this spot, 
and yet there is no perceptible increase 
in the number of the labourers. The 
works are carried on only by the con- 
stant arrival of fresh convicts. . There is 
something strange, and peculiarly painful 
in the picture of such numan wretched- 
ness, in the very midst of the boundless 
wealth which the bowels of the earth are 
disgorging. Exhaustless affluence and 
squalid poverty meet together. 

The utmost precautions are adopted by 
government to prevent the escape of the 
convicts. And yet whither can the 
convict go, but to places more desolate 
than that from which he seeks to flee; 
for, unless he chooses to herd with the 
brute creation, he must venture into vil- 
lages where his passport will be demanded. 
Great precautions, however, as we have 
said, are taken to prevent escape. Every 
discouragement is offered to the cultiva- 
tion and tenancy of the country for an 
immense distance round Nertchinsk, 
(although the soil is exceedingly rich and 
productive,) as is shown by the few corn 
farms which are occupied by exiles of the 
higher sort, released from the labours of 
the mines. Scarcely is a habitation to be 
seen for hundreds of miles round Nert- 
chinsk, except the post-houses with their 
prisons, on the high road to Irkutsk. 
The object of the government is, to make 
the country so impassable, that the de- 
serters shall be obliged to have recourse 
to these post-houses for subsistence, where 
they would be sure of being arrested. 
The runaway, who clfooses an eastern or 
a northern direction, is, on the other hand, 
certain of encountering the native hunters 
and pastoral tribes, who are authorized 
to shoot them, unless they ean produce 
passes from the government authorities. 

Notwithstanding all these precautions, 
many do manage to escape, and doubt- 
less many more form resolutions to do so, 
which, however, are frustrated. Nor is 
this at all surprising, when we consider 
their continual bondage, their miserable 
life, and their gloomy prospects in the 
mines. The mere possession of liberty 
for a few months, is deemed by them 



worthy of all the risks which they run. 
We have spoken of the freedom which 
they gain, as heing only for a season, and 
yet it is astonishing to find that many of 
tliese varnalcs, as the deserters are called, 
have, for successive years, made a prac- 
tice of escaping in the spring season, and 
then voluntarily returning in the autumn, 
and surrendering themselves to the au- 
thorities, when they are flogged afresh 
with the knout. We have heard some 
of these exiles, who have been punished 
several times in this manner declare, 
that the oftener they had undergone it, 
the more insensible they became to the 
pain, and the more supportable they 
found the horrid process. 

When a convict does manage to escape, 
in spite of all the rigours of the govern- 
ment, he is not shut out entirely from the 
sympathies of his countrymen. It is the 
practice among many of the Russians in 
Siberia, especially among those living 
out of towns and large villages, to have 
a sort of shelf erected over their windows 
outside the house, on which they lay 
some provisions in the shape of bread and 
cheese, and even meat, during the night; 
a kindness which they say makes their 
houses absolutely inviolate. It is a spe- 
cies of conciliatory offering to the varna/c, 
who accepts of it, and rewards the wor- 
shippers by molesting them no further. 

It may be easily imagined, that where 
the vamaks have the opportunity of rob- 
bingy they form a dangerous body to 
encounter. During summer the woods 
and forests through which the high roads 
pass are frequently infested with them. 
They unscrupulously strip the passenger 
who falls in their way of all he has, and 
sometimes, to prevent his giving inform- 
ation too soon, they will bind him, as 
they did captain Cochrane, the travel- 
ler, naked, to'some tree, and leave him 
there, to the tender mercies of the first 
visitor. As for the natives, they view 
the varnaks with an almost superstitious 
terror, and a band of three or four of the 
former will often flee before a single 
runaway convict. While the desperate 
condition of the varnak enables him to 
maintain his presence of mind, and to 
command and concentrate his experienced 
powers in devising his method of escape, 
the native loses ell self-possession, and 
wavers incfTectnally between thoughts of 
flight or assault. 

It is some relief to a dismal picture, 
like the preceding, to be able to add, that 
the convicts condemned to labour in the 

mines for only a limited time, if they 
have acquitted themselves during that 
period to the satisfaction of the authorities, 
have, on being released, lattds allotted to 
them of considerable extent, and are fur- 
nished by the government with all the 
necessaries and facilities for their cultiva- 
tion. They are generally very prosper- 
ous, and frequently attain to a position of 
great respectability and wealth. In this 
respect, the system works well, as the 
convict has, on the expiration of his 
punishment, a strong motive set before 
nim " to cease to do evil," and 'Mearn to 
do well." 

Such is exile life in Siberia; a dark 
but faithful picture. AflTectingly does it 
illustrate the miseries which follow in the 
path of ein. Even here 

" Sin, shame, and woe. 
Together go." 

T. S. 


*' I have a good offer for my farm, " 
Slid Mr. Earl to his wife, " and I think 
I shall sell it." 

"Why do you wish to sell it ? " said 
Mrs. Earl. 

** The land is stony and partly worn 
nut. 1 can go into a new country, where 
land is cheap and feitile, and realize a 
much larger return for the same amount 
of labour." 

** If we go into a new country, there 
will be no schools for our children. " 

" Our children are not old enough to 
go to school; by the time they are old 
enough it is most likely schools will be 
established wherever we may go. " 

" We may also be deprived of the pri- 
vilege of attending the house of God. " 

** We can take our Bibles with us, and 
can read them on the sabbath, if we 
should happen to settle at a distance 
from a place of worship. " 

*• It will be far better for us to remain 
here, where we can educate our children, 
and bring them under the sound of the 

** I must do what I think is required 
by the interests of my family. " 

'* Pray remember that property is not 
the only thing needed by cur chil- 

A few days after this conversation, the 
bargain was concluded, and the farm 



became the property of Mr. Hale. Mr. 
Earl was to put him in possession of it 
early in the spring. 

Mr. Earl was descended from one of 
the early Puritan settlers of Massa- 
chusetts. His ancestors for many gene- 
rations had been devout members of the 
church of Christ. He was the first alien 
from the commonwealth of Israel. His 
mother was an amiable, but not a pious 
woman, and some thought that it was 
owing to her that he had not profited by 
the instructions of his pious father, and 
had turned a deaf ear to the gospel 
which he had heard from his infancy. 
He loved the world, and in order to 
secure a larger portion of its goods he 
was willing to leave the home of his 
childhood, and the graves of his fathers, 
and to take up his abode on the borders 
of civilization. 

His wife was one who preferred Jeru- 
salem to her chief joy. The old time-worn 
house of God, with its high square pews, 
and huge sounding-board, was as beautiful 
to her as the most faultless specimen of 
architecture to the connoisseur. She 
desired that her children might grow up 
under the influence of the truths which 
were proclaimed in that house. Her 
chief desire, with respect to them, was, 
that they might become rich in faith, 
and heirs of the kingdom. In the spring 
she was constrained to bid farewell to 
her native village. After a wearisome 
journey, she found herself and family in 
what was then a wilderness, in the 
western part of New York. The gospel 
was not preached in the vicinity, nor 
was even the log school-house erected. 
For a time, Mr. E. observed the sabbath 
so far as resting from labour was con- 
cerned. He even spent some time in 
reading [the Bible, but he did not pray. 
In consequence, that blessed book was 
graduallv laid aside. 

The climate, and perhaps the labours 
incident to a life in the wilderness, 
caused Mrs. E. to fall into a decline. 
When, after a lingering illness, she bade 
her husband farewell, she charged him 
to send her children to her native home, 
that they might there be taught, in the 
school-house and the church, truths 
which could make them wise unto salva- 
tion. Mr. Earl complied, in part, with 
his wife's request. He sent his daughter 
Julia, who was now nine years of age, 
and her younger brother. The older one 
he detained to assist him in his labours. 

It was six years before Julia returned 

to her father. She had spent that time 
among the pious friends of her departed 
mother. She found the home of her 
childhood greatly changed. A neat 
village surrounded the tasteful dwelling 
now occupied by her father. The spire 
of the village church rose aloft, and the 
school-house was not far distant. She 
rejoiced to return to her home, though 
she was to meet its chief charm no more. 
A check was soon given to her joy. 
When she sat down to the evening meal, 
the blessing of God was not invoked. It 
was with diflSculty that she could eat. 
When the hour for retiring came, she 
was still more unhappy, as the family 
separated without prayer. 

Mr. E. soon perceived that his 
daughter did not feel at home in his 
house. It made him sad at heart, for he 
had long looked forward to her return, 
with hope that she would restore, in part, 
at least, the loss he had experienced. 
He said to her one day, " Julia, you do 
not seem to feel as much at home as I 
could wish. " 

After some hesitation, she replied, " I 
do not feel safe here. " 

"Do not feel safe!" said he, in 

"I am afraid to live uTider a roof 
where there is no prayer. " 

The remark went to the father's heart 
He thought of all the mercies he had 
received, the protection he had expe- 
rienced, unasked! He continued to 
think of his ways till his soul fainted 
within him. He looked at his oldest son, 
a sabbath-breaker, and ignorant of God, 
and could not conceal the truth, that it 
was owing to the act of removing him in 
childhood from the means of grace, and 
exposing him to influences that, in all 
probability would prove his ruin. 

In a few days, he asked Julia to read 
the Scriptures, and pray in the family. 
It was with joy that she heard the 
request, but with great difficulty that she 
complied with it. It was not till she 
was reminded of the joy it would give to 
her mother, could she be a witness 
of it, that she consented to make the 
attempt. In a few weeks, on a sabbath 
morning, the father himself took the 
Bible, and, having read a portion, 
kneeled down, and, with tears, besought 
God to teach stammering lips how to 
pray. Light, peace, and safety took up 
tlieir abode in a dwelling now no longer 
prayerless. — Mother's Magazine. 




" Ye are the salt of the earth : but if the salt 
have lost his savour, wherevrith shall it be salted ? " 
— Matt. V. IS. 

Salt exists as a ' mineral in large 
masses, and is also produced by evapora- 
tion of sea-water or saline springs. The 
sea is impregnated with salt, — as are also 
many lakes and rivers. The most cele- 
brated salt mines are in Poland, Spain, 
and Cheshire, in England. This substance 
is generally found beneath the surface of 
the earth, though it sometimes rises in 
hills. Such exist about the southern 
extremity of the Dead Sea. At Cordova, 
there is a hill, between four and five 
hundred feet high, entirely of salt ; there 
is also one of this mineral at Lahore. 
This kind is distinguished by the name 
of rock-salt. 

Salt was applied to various purposes 
at a very early period of the history of 
the world. The patriarch Job alludes to 
its use as a condiment for food, *^ Can 
that which is savoury be eaten without 
salt?" It was also mingled with the 
fodder of cattle; hence the words in 
Isa. XXX. 24, — the marginal reading of 
which is — " The oxen likewise .... 
shall eat savoury provender." It is 
well known that salt is essential to 
health and vigour. It has likewise a 
preserving power as an antiseptic ; while 
used in proper porportions, it is valuable 
as a manure, and enriches the soil. Salt 
was highly esteemed in ancient days, as 
it is now. And hence it was used as 
figurative of many important elements 
in the worship of God and social character 
of man. Its use iti the ancient sacrifices 
is well understood. In these religious 
exercises, "it signified," says an eminent 
commentator, "the purity and perse- 
vering fidelity that are necessary in the 
worship of God. ... It was called ' the 
salt of the covenant,' because as salt is 
incorruptible, so were the covenant and 
promise of Jehovah. " Hence it may be 
seen that salt was of great value to the 
Hebrews : and the remark of our Lord 
would be very forcible when uttered to 
the Jews, " Salt is good. " 

Among the heathen, salt was com- 
monly used in their sacrifices. " So 
essentially necessary, " says Pliny, " is 
salt, that without it human life cannot be 
preserved, and even the pleasures and 
endowments of the mind are expressed 
by it ; the delights of life, repose and the 
highest mental serenity,are also expressed 

by no other term than sales among the 
Latins. It has also been applied to 
designate the honourable rewards given 
to soldiers, which are called salarii or 
salaries. But its importance may be 
further understood by its use in sacred 
things, as no sacrifice^ was offered to the 
gods without the salt cake. " 

This article was esteemed at a very 
early period as an emblem of friendship 
and fidelity, as well as hospitality. 
Hence we read, Numb, xviii. 19, and 
2 Chron. xiii. 5, of " a covenant of salt." 
It was a prominent article in the treaty 
between Jacob and Laban. It still 
possesses in some parts of the east the 
same' symbolical character ; this appears 
from the following anecdotes: — Baron 
de Tott says, "Moldovanji Pacha was 
desirous of an acquaintance with me, and 
seeming to regret that his business would 
not permit him to stay long, he departed, 
promising in a short time to return. T 
had already attended him half-way down 
the staircase, when stopping, and turning 
briskly to one of my domestics, who 
followed me, ' Bring me directly, ' said 
he, * some bread and salt. * I ^VaS not 
less surprised at this fancy than at the 
haste which was made to obey him. 
What he requested was brought; when, 
taking a little salt between his fingers, 
and putting it, with a mysterious air, on 
a bit of bread, he ate it, with a devotit 
gravity, assuring me that I might now 
rely on him." The baron adds, "The 
Turks think it the blackest ingratitude 
to forget the man from whom we have 
received food : which is signified by the 
bread and salt in this ceremony." 

We learn also th^ a notorious robber, 
who had broken into a palace, and was 
in the act of abstracting a great collec- 
tion of valuable articles, accidentally 
stumbled, as he was decamping, on a 
piece of salt, in consequence of which 
he was so struck with the outrage 
he had committed, that he restored all 
his booty, and went away as he had 
entered. * 

Tamerlane, speaking of one of his 
servants who had forsaken him, and 
joined the enemy and fought against 
him, says, " At length my salt which he 
had eaten overwhelmed him with remorse; 
he again threw himself on my mercy, 
and humbled himself before me. "f This 
may illustrate Ezra iv. 14, which is 
literally, " Because we are salted with 

* Jameson's ** Eastern Manners." 
t " Fragments," Calmet. 



the ialt of the palace (Chald. reading), it 
was not meet for us to see the king's 

As the Holy Land abounded in salt, it 
is probable many sayings and proverbs 
were derived from the properties of that 
article. Salt was the symbol of wisdom. 
As salt renders savoury that with which 
it comes in contact, so should the life 
and conversation of good men influence 
and improve those by whom they are 
surrounded. " Ye are the salt of the 
earth. ** " Let your speech be always 
with grace, seasoned with salt. " " Salt 
is good : but if the salt have lost his salt- 
nes8, wherewith shall it be seasoned?" 
" Along one side of the Valley of Salt," 
says a trayelleri ** that toward Gibul, etc., 
there is a small precipice, occasioned 
by the continual taking away the salt; 
and in this way you may see how the 
veins of it lie. I broke a piece of it, of 
which that part that was exposed to the 
rain, sun, and air, though it had the 
sparks and particles of salt, yet it had 
perfectly lost its savour, as in Matt. 
V. 13. 

*' The evaporation from the Dead Sea 
produces a deposit of salt, whence the 
Arabs obtain their supply. At the 
south-west extremity of the Dead Sea 
is a plain or valley of salt ; here it was 
David's army overcame the Edomites. 
It appears at a distance like a lake of 
water. There is a kind of dry crust of 
salt all over the top of it, which sounds, 
when the horses go upon it, like frozen 
snow crackling beneath the feet of the 
traveller. In the heat of the summer, 
the water is dried oif, and when the sun 
has scorched the ground, there is found 
remaining the crust of salt. 

'<At the neighbouring village, Gibul, 
are kept the magazines of salt, where you 
find great moimtains of that mineral, 
ready for sale. "* 

Gberra was a most celebrated mart on 
the Persian Gulf. Pliny says the city 
was five miles in circumference, with 
towers built of fossil salt. The mine 
at Cracow is much like a town, with its 
chapels and chambers cut out in its sides. 
Children are born In these mines, and 
frequently spend their whole lives in 
them : 

*• Thus cavern'd round in Cracow's mighty mines, 
"With crystal walls a gorgeous city shines ; 
Scoop'd in the briny rock, long streets extend 
Their heavy course, and glittering domes as- 

« (i 

Voyages and Travels." 

A city of salt is mentioned in the 
neighbourhood of the Dead Sea, Joshua 
XV. 62. The Arabs make pits in the 
shore of the Dead Sea. When the spring 
freshets raise the waters of the lake, 
these are filled. After evaporation, salt, 
about an inch in thickness, is furnished. 
These pits are referred to, Zeph. ii. 9 ; 
£zek. xlvii. 11. 

No vegetables grow in a salt land. 
The efPect on them is described by 
burning, Dent. xxix. 23 : ''A salt land, 
not inhabited." Such is the condition of 
some parts of Africa : 

" Salt earths and bitter are not fit to sow, 
Nor will be tamed or mended with the plough." 

It was a token of perpetual desolation^ 
and of sterility ; hence the custom of sow- 
ing an enemy's city with salt. Lot's wife, 
for her disobedience, was turned into a 
pillar of salt — an awful monument of 
God's anger. H. H. 



During the last fifty years, the Bible 
has been translated into one hundred and 
forty-three languages. Never, — we say 
it with adoration and to the glory of the 
Lord, — never was the name of Christ 
proclaimed to so many dtfFerent countries 
as in our own age. And what is remark- 
able is, that in Protestant populations all 
over the continent of Europe, thousands 
of persons who have not arrived at any 
serious convictions of the Divine inspira- 
tion of the sacred books, have oeen 
drawn into the movement, and have 
considered it an honour to take part in 
the work and institutions of the Bible. 

Could the popes, meanwhile, be indif- 
ferent to all tliis ? Pius vii. rises to the 
Vatican in 1800, and soon after launches 
a " bull " against the word of God : " My 
heart bleeds, ** he says, *' to hear of the 
evil done by Bible Societies. " In 1814, 
he re-established the Jesuits. Behold 
now *' that wicked'- at work again, and 
his successors will follow in his steps. 
Mark how he proceeds ! His orders and 
messages are sent to all parts of the 
world : we see him adopting all mea- 
sures, and assuming every garb, to arrest 
the victories of the Bible. Sometimes 
he stops not at the most violent means : 
we see the Jesuit missionaries in Cochin 
China, mounted upo|i the French ships 



of war, dealing out grape-shot upon the ' 
inhabitants who do not sufficiently re- 
spect their presence. We fiud them at 
Tahiti, supported by French bayonets, 
seeking to corrupt by debauchery, and by 
the introduction of spirituous liquors, the 
communities where the kingdom of God 
was advancing in such a remarkable 
manner. But why seek examples in 
distant seas? Has not the pope just 
blessed Oudinot and his soldiers for 
having mown down with the cannon his 
dearly-beloved subjects? Has he not 
given plenary indulgence to all those 
who have been wounded in the effort to 
render him back his triple crown? And 
did he not cast into the dungeons of the 
Inquisition those who were labouring to 
circulate the Bible? 

It is above all interesting to observe 
the different evolutions and measures 
which the pope has been obliged to use 
to regain ana preserve his influence in 
France. Under Charles x. all was easy. 
The Jesuits availed themselves largely of 
the power, to make war upon the wora of 
God ; and if their endeavours to re-com- 
mence violent persecutions in the south 
of France were not crowned with success, 
their intrigues were only the more active 
up to the moment of the revolution of 
1830. Who does not remember the 
conversions of that period, and the 
labours of the abb6 Grayon— that period 
when marshals of France were obliged 
to walk in the processions, and carry a 
candle in order to keep in the good 
graces of their sovereign? Under Louis 
Philippe the pope was obliged to walk a 
little more cautiously. The treasures of 
the state were not opened quite so easily 
as under the former administration. But 
the propaganda, whose seat is at Lyons, 
made up for the resources of the state 
treasury, by abundant collections. By 
means of lawsuits^ removals from office, 
banishment from the kingdom, and, 
above all, by means of the confessional, 
they hindered everywhere the work of 
the Bible and of evangelization. It was 
under Louis Philippe and M. Guizot 
that the abomination at Tahiti occurred ; 
and that they transported in great pomp 
some relics of St. Augustine to Algeria; 
and it was under Louis Philippe that the 
worship of the Virgin took an entirely 
new development. 

The Republic was proclaimed in 1848. 
In an instant the Jesuit clergy cast 
themselves upon their knees before it; 
incense and holy water did homage to 

every liberty tree. In a few months, the 
scene changes : a Bonaparte is in power. 
Ah! then there is no language of love 
and devotion sufficiently fervent to ex- 
press the admiration and the enthusiasm 
of the bishops and priests; and because 
the president assists sometimes at low 
mass, and has chosen a distinguished 
Jesuit for one of his cabinet, the pope 
flatters and caresses him, and calls him 
his " dearly beloved son. " Thus, in 
less than twenty years, the Roman 
clergy passed from Legitimacy to Louis 
Philippe, from Louis Philippe to the 
Republic, and from the Republic they 
are ready to pass to any other power, 
provided it will give them support, 
riches, and especially furnish them with 
the means of opposing the Bible, and 
making war upon the peo[^e of God. 

But nowhere do we see the pretended 
vicar of Jesus Christ acting with more 
stratagem and hypocrisy than in 
England. There the means employed 
are quite different Could we know all 
the secret instructions given to Messrs. 
Wiseman, Newman, and others, the 
mental reservations, unworthy of great 
men, which have been prescribed for 
them, we might well be astonished. 
" Go gently, " says the holy father to 
them} " remember the motto of our dear 
son, the ci-devant bishop of Autun, 
Talleyrand, *Surtout, pa9 trop de z^le,** 
Begin little by little; do not let them 
know that you have abandoned Pro- 
testantism; dazzle the eyes of the 
English in Italy by the prestige of the 
unity and the grandeur of the cere- 
monies of the Roman Catholic Church, 
and by the majesty of the Gothic basi- 
lisques; point out to the English nobility 
the elegant position which Roman Ca- 
tholicism reserves for it, and labour to 
malce them comprehend that Rome only 
is in a position to resist the progress of 
democracy. On the other hand, sustain 
secretly the Catholics in Ireland, and 
cause them to see that to the sovereign 
pontiff only belongs the power to pacify 
the country. By means of publications, 
such as 'Tracts for the Times,' bring to 
view, little by little, the importance of 
the authority of the church : if you can 
render it equal to that of the Bible, you 
will make an immense stride. The wor- 
ship of the Virgin and of the saints 
ought not to be presented too soon : 
these dogmas you will simply call up to 

* <* Above all, be not too zealous." The counsel 
of Talleyrand to the foreign ambassadois. 



the imagination. Commence further 
hack: suhstitute for the table of the 
Lord an altar ; let this altar stand but a 
few inches above the level of the floor ; 
let the priest charged with reading the 
liturgy take pains to turn gradually 
towards the altar; do not forget the 
bending of the knee in passing before 
the altar ; seek especially to impress 
the minds of the youth with the idea of 
great superiority of the clerical order 
over the laity. It will be well, then, 
to treat upon the doctrines, beginning 
with that of baptismal regeneration. 
The English ecclesiastics will not at first 
attach any great importance to these 
things : their vanity will be flattered, 
and having once made a few concessions, 
it will be diflScult for them to draw 
back." Thus gradually has Popery 
taken root in England. 

In Protestant Germany, Popery appears 
to have adopted the same steps as in 
England; and while works have been 
composed to attack, by calumny, the 
doctrines of our glorious Reformation, 
ultra-Lutheranism, like high-churchism 
in England, has allowed itself but too 
easily to be drawn into the net, whose 
cords are held by a mysterious hand. 
The authority of the church (that is to 
say of the clergy) assumes, in more 
than one country in Germany, to replace 
that of the Bible, or at least to dispute 
with it the supremacy. The clergy 
reclaim mildly, and without any noise, 
the exclusive monopoly of religious 
worship. In the midst of infidel or 
indifferent masses, sacramental religion 
extends its empire. Worship gains in 
external pomp what it has lost in spiri- 
tuality. The doctrines of the Holy 
Spirit and of the new birth are now 
rarely preached; but instead of them, 
they have taken care to place lighted 
candles upon the altar! — Correspondence 
of the New York Evangelist, 


As periodicals of all kinds will supply 
their readers, from time to time, with 
information respecting the Great Exhibi- 
tion, it becomes highly desirable that 
every individual author should endeavour 
to impart to his papers some peculiar 
feature, or novel end, to redeem them 
from the imputation of being merely a 
transcript of what has emanated from 
others. True it is that many particulars 

necessary to be imparted will not admit 
of change ; they must, of necessity, by 
whomsoever related, be essentially the 
same. No originality, or fancy, or talent 
can alter the facts that the Exhibition 
was projected by a high personage, and 
that the edifice in Hyde- park had a cer- 
tain designer ; neither can any change be 
made in announcing the extent and form 
of the building, the materials of which it 
is composed, nor the purposes for which 
it has been erected. But though in these 
and some other respects there is no 
opportunity of being versatile, yet is there 
abundant room in so extended a subject 
as that of the Great Exhibition to mani- 
fest variety of choice, freshness of re- 
mark, and novelty of reflection. 

The object of the present paper will be 
to set forth, in a striking light, a few 
instances of the energetic influence of the 
Exhibition. When smooth water is dis- 
turbed, the rings which are formed go on 
increasing in magnitude ; and the Great 
Exhibition, like the stone cast into the 
liquid expanse, will not be confined to 
the space that it occupies, but its influ- 
ence will extend to the remotest shores. 

Let us begin with the beginning, the 
promulgation of the plan ; the original 
proposal of prince Albert, that a Great 
National Exhibition should take place in 
London, and that a suitable edifice should 
be erected, in which the varied articles 
to be displayed might be received and 
viewed. This proposal, emanating from 
such a source, was generally acceptable. 
The nobles of the land came forward, 
public meetings were held, subscriptions 
were given, commissioners were ap- 
pointed, committees formed, correspond- 
ences established, and architects and 
artists set to work to prepare designs for 
the edifice about to be erected. If at 
this juncture ail the springs of action 
could have been seen, which had been 
set in motion among the nobles, sub- 
scribers, commissioners, committees, mer- 
chants, manufacturers, architects, artists, 
engineers, builders, and workmen; to 
say nothing of the never-ceasing labours 
of the press, it must have been acknow- 
ledged that an energetic influence had 
been called into operation. 

Energy begets energy, and an illustra- 
tion of this truth is given by the rapidly- 
sketched and successfal design of Mr. 
Paxton, for the edifice in Hyde-park. 
This prodigious work, commenced and 
perfected in a period of nine or ten days, 
was a fit prelude to the energetic erection 



of the edifice, which has called forth the 
wonder of the civilized world. 

When the design of Paxton was ap- 
proved, and the tender of Fox and Hen- 
derson accepted, a new energy was 
^awakened ; ror, as the required huilding 
vras to he composed of iron and glass, a 
prodigious quantity of iron and 400 tons 
of glass were rapidly to he provided ; so 
that the hlast and glass furnaces were put 
into requisition with giant power. The 
sturdy vulcans of the forge bared their 
hrawily arms, and the heat-enduring sons 
of the glasshouse plied incessantly their 
toilsome callings. The midday sun saw 
them at their work, and the midnight 
moon witnessed their labours. To make 
the glass alone, 600 tons of white sand, 
besides alkali and lime, were required, 
and 3,000 tons of coal were consumed in 
the process. A glance at the coal, iron, 
white sand, glass, miners, colliers, forge- 
men, glass-men, carriers, barges, boats, 
wagons, and vehicles, with all the opera- 
tions necessary to be performed before 
the materials could safely be deposited in 
Hyde-park, would have convinced the 
most sceptical of the energetical in^- 
ences of the Great Exhibition. 

The erection of the Crystal Palace pre- 
sented another feature of promptitude 
and despatch, for the speed with which 
the work advanced could hardly be cre- 
dited by those who were not spectators 
of the scene. With such celerity were 
even the subordinate transactions of the 
undertaking conducted, that the payment 
of the wages of 1,196 workmen was 
effected in thirty-six minutes, while the 
flickering blaze of a bonfire of shavings 
and waste wood illuminated the crystal 
structure with its fitful glare. In a word, 
the space was hoarded in, the ground 
was levelled and prepared, the more than 
3,000 columns were set up, the girders, 
bearers, trusses, and gutters were ad- 
justed, the walls and roof were glazed, 
and the whole building decorated in the 
space of a few months. Thus was erected 
an edifice of taste, a palace of beauty, 
and a monument of energy and despatch 
hardly equalled in the history of our 

But while thus the Crystal Palace was 
rising, as by the wand of a magician, to 
amaze the beholder, the same energetic 
activity was at work in other depart- 
ments of this great national undertaking. 
Correspondence was carried on with dif- 
ferent nations; space was allotted to 
British and foreign exhibitors ; rules were 

laid down to prevent disappointment and 
confusion ; railroad regulations adopted 
for the cheap transit of visitors to the 
Exhibition, and arrangements made for 
their convenience and comfort in board, 
lodging, sight-seeing, and other respects. 
Altogether the labour of the commission- 
ers, executive section, building and local 
committees, chairmen, deputies, and 
secretaries was of the most effective kind. 
In short, energy has been as it were in- 
scribed on every department of the 
national enterprise. 

Nor does it appear that the 8,000 
exhibitors are a whit less alert and in 
earnest in the part they have to perform 
in the coming Exhibition ; for enormous 
as is the Crystal Palace in size, it has not 
sufficient space to contain the natural 
productions, ingenious machines, costly 
manufactures, and choice works of art 
which they wish to display. Ground- 
floor, galleries, and walls will, no doubt, 
be well covered with an almost endless 
variety of unique workmanship and in- 
teresting curiosities. Here the great 
organ, there the great carpet, and yonder 
the great printing-press, the great gar- 
land, and the great coal will attract 
attention ; while all around the products 
of the mine, the foundry, and the forge ; 
the loom, the needle, and the studio, in 
admirable profusion, will secure the re- 
gard of the spectator. Promptitude of 
purpose and energy of action will thus be 
widely proclaimed. 

Some conception maybe formed of the 
extent of the Exhibition by the import- 
ance attached to the printing of the list 
of articles to be displayed. Was such a 
thing ever thought of before, that a 
printer should give 3,000/. for the privi- 
lege of printing a catalogue, with an 
additional 2d. for every book sold ? This 
is another proof of the energetic influence 
called forth by the Exhibition. A cata- . 
logue of 320 quarto pages, printed in 
double columns, will he sold for 1^., and 
another, printed in several languages, for 
IQs, It is said that a sum of 500 guineas 
has been offered for the outer page of the 
Is. edition, to be occupied with advertise- 
ments, but not accepted. Some say a 
quarter of a million catalogues will be 
sold, while others believe that half a mil- 
lion, or a million will be nearer the 

Already is there sufficient proof of the 
ardour of the expected visitors; their 
numbers will be immense. The gathered 
throng that in a living stream will con- 



tinually be flowing through the length- 
ened avenues of the Crystal Palace, is 
expected to comprise almost every grade 
and shade of humanity. The peer and 
the peasant, the merchanty manufacturer, 
and arlisan, Englishmen, and foreigners 
wiil mingle together : 

The gay Italian soon will leate 

The Tiber and the Po ; 
The atateW Spaniard wend his way 

Where Thames' proud waters flow. 

The Frenchman, Dutchman, Portuguese, 

Will all in heart combine : 
Tlie Dane will from the Baltic come ; 

The German from the Rhine. 

The turbaa'd Turk, the ftar-clad Russ, 

From Muacovitish walls; 
The Swiss flrom where the avalanche 

In thundering ruin falls. 

We have many gatherings that excite 
attention and awake our wonder ; but the 
great gathering at the Crystal Palace will 
roost likely exceed them all : black and 
white, brown, copper-coloured, and tawnv 
will assemble; men of large and small 
stature, plain in apparel and richly 
clad. Europeans, Asiatics, Africans, and 

The world-wide influences of the Great 
Exhibition can only be imagined. Not 
only will this country secure what advan- 
tages are to be derived from foreign spe- 
cimens of comfort, luxury, and taste, 
which may, of their kind, be superior to 
our own, but foreigners will take away 
from us what will confer upon them equal 
benefits. Would that ihese benefits could 
be extended to the confines of the globe, 
end that the Hindoo, the Malay, and the 
pagodarloving Chinese; the Hottentot, 
the CafiTre, the Bushman, and fish- eating 
Esquimaux might be partakers of the 
general jubilee I 

Our Hyde- park gatherings have hither- 
to consisted too much of military reviews ; 
but we are not quite so warlike as we 
were, and the gatherine in the Crystal 
Palace will supply us with an agreeable 
variety. Fona as we have been of mili- 
tary glory, 

The triumphs of peace will be dearer by far 
To the land of the lYee than the trophies of war ; 
And one deed of compassion more graterul to view 
Than the crimson-stain'd glories of wild Waterloo. 

The Great Exhibition has been begun, 
carried on, and will, no doubt, be con- 
tinued to the end in a spirit of energy 
which it is hoped will confer great benents 
on mankind. That which binds together 
distant nations in amity and interest must 
needs be favourable to the spread of 
knowledge and truth, and thus ttie mani- 

festations of peace and good-will to man 
may be ultimately followed by gospel 
light and glory to God. 

As the Great Exhibition has awakened 
much of worldly ardour, it should also 
call forth much of Christian energy, 
pressing upon us eternal considerations, 
and preparmg us for the great gathering, 
when the trump of the archangel shall 
summon together the quick and the dead. 
Though the road to eternal life be hard to 
the proud, yet He who has said, '* I am 
the Way," has made it easy to the humble. 
Walk therein, and death need not be 
feared. Courage, Christian! 

Though thy sins were untold as the sands. 

Thy 8aviour has scattered them wide ; 
Oh look on the palms of his hands, 

And the rent and the stream at His side. 

So long as thy Saviour sh^tU reign, 
And the throne of his glory endure ; 

So long will His promise remain, 
And thy pardon and peace be secure. 

M. G. 


For many ages there has prevailed a 
remarkable legend— fabulous, yet instruc- 
tive. It tells us that a man, a contem- 
porary of Herod the Great and Pilate, 
haying refused to permit the Saviour, 
when laden with the cross, to rest on the 
threshold of his door on the way to Cal- 
vary, the Son of God said to him, '* As 
you will not allow me to rest for a 
moment, I will not allow you henceforth 
one moment of repose. Onward without 
ceasing you shall go during ages, even 
to the end of the world." Since then, 
the legend says, the Jew wanders over 
the four quarters of the globe, and hence 
his name, " The Wandering Jew.'' In 
vain would be stop ; in vain would one 
oppose his passage ; onward he goes, 
onward continual^ ! Day and night, 
summer and winter, he thus proceeds; 
neither cold nor heat, neither disease 
nor old age, can stay his progress ! 
Though the nations are distracted by civil 
commotions, thrones crumble to dust, 
armies, as he passes, meet in deadly con- 
flict, nothing stops him; onward he 
goes, onward continually ! Sometimes th6 
peaceable inhabitant of the country, seated 
on the sabbath by the road-side, invites 
the old man to stop to indulge awhile in 
friendly talk. Useless invitation ! an in- 
vincible power impels him — onward he 
goes, onward continually! At other 
times, young holiday folk invite him to 
share in their pleasures, to slake his thirst 



in tbeir cup, to lend an ear to their songs 
— impossible, impossible ; onward he goes, 
onward continually ! " Where are you 
going, old man?" *'I know not; but I 
go onward." " When will you reach the 
desired place V " I know not ; hut I go 
onward." *' And what will you find at 
the end of your journey?" "I know not; 
but I go onward ; onward in spite of my- 
self, in spite of my supplications to taste 
one moment of repose. I wish for death, 
but death flies from me; I go onward, 
onward continually." 

Is it not true; reader, that the condition 
of such a man would he very sad, very 
unhappy ? Doubtless it would be so ; but 
what would you think of another wan- 
derer, who should himself have chosen 
that kind of existence — who would go 
en continually without wishing to stop — 
without knowing whither he was going — 
without listening to voices which Invite 
him to repose and to happiness ? What 
would you think of a wanderer whom 
neither day nor night, neither disease nor 
old age could prevail on to stop, to ask 
himself at least whither he was going ; and 
who would go onward thus continually 
without object, without motive, without 
repose I i ou would say that this volun- 
tary ifHuiderer is not merely an unhappy 
man, but that he is more, a madman, 
the author of his own calamity ! Reader, 
that voluntary wanderer is found among 
you, and counts among you numerous 
imitators. How many are there who pass 
along the high road of life without know- 
ing whither they are g<Hng, and yet still 
go onward continually ? In advancing, 
they care for nothing but the immediate 
wants of the road ; they labour hard to 
acquire their travelling dress ; they exert 
themselves body and mind to get their 
daily food ; but whither they are going 
they know not 1 When they will arrive 
they know not ! What they will find at 
the termination of their journey they 
know not I Common sense cries to them, 
'* Stay at least one hour by the wayside, 
to ask yourself whither you are going." 
No, no ; onward they go continuaUy with 
bent head, and hand over their eyes. In 
vain men, instructed by experience, tell 
them as they pass, " You are deceived ; 
you will find there a precipice and death." 
It matters not, they go onward, onward 
continually ! In vain counsels, prayers, 
exhortations are sent after them — in vain 
the warning voice says, "Advance not 
recklessly; if you will not believe us, 
reflect, think at least for yourselves."—- 

They turn aside the head, they close their 
ears, and without replying, go on on- 
ward, onward continually ! But who are 
these madmen ? Are you of their number, 
reader ? Before answering, see if your , 
history resemble not the sketch we have 
drawn. During your infancy you have 
gone on under the guidance of your pa- 
rents, without knowing yourselves where 
that course might lead you to, busied 
in only one thing, in plucking the flowers 
on the roadside, and gathering some little 
pebbles on the path. To express it all in 
one word, you sought, as one says, at that 
age, amusement ! At a later date, you 
left the paternal mansion to open your 
own house ; you married, perhaps ; had 
children ; laboured to support them ; hut 
you lived merely to live ; lived to drink 
and to eat ; to sleep or to walk. You 
lived from day to day; lived the life of 
the senseless animals which surround us ; 
at most you asked yourselves what would 
become of your children after your 
death, and not what would become of 
their father; deep anxieties respecting 
others, not one serious thought regarding 
yourself ! When have you ever reuly said 
to yourself— What is the object of this 
life? What shall I find at its close ? Can I 
in time present cast an influence over my 
destiny in time to come? Am I going 
to annihilation, or to life ? to happiness, 
or to misery ? You have treated these 
as idle questions. At a still later period, 
when old age or the acquisition of a 
fortune has put a period to your labours, 
— when at last you were able to sit down 
by the wayside to meditate on your 
destinv, what have you done? Your 
body 18 becoming emaciated, your hair 
white, your face wrinkled, your powers 
are faiHng you, death is close upon you. 
" What matters it, however?" you reply, 
"speak to me of the past, not of the 
future ; speak to me of man, not of God; 
give me a newspaper, not a Bible; let 
me enjoy my last hour; life is short, 
death is at hand,— but be stiU, be still, 
speak not of it. We will get along as 
we can ; there is no need to think about 
that" Oh I is not this folly, folly ? 

Will no one among you, readers, 
acknowledge this as a fair representation 
of himself? Have you seriously jpon- 
dered on the design of your life? have 
you passed, at least, one hour daily in 
asking why you live? Have you dis- 
covered it? Can you say with thorough 
heart-felt conviction, that after death man 
sinks into nothingness, or that you know 



that man after death finds another life? 
Do you know what God requires of you^ 
what you must do to please him ? Have 
you a fixed rule whereby to direct your 
conduct? Have you observed it? In 
fine, — do you know whither you are 
going ? If you know not, stay an 
instant, listen, think, read, and perhaps 
you will learn. All unused, too, as you 
may hitherto have been to prayer, as you 
read, pray that God would, for Christ's 
sake, give you his Holy Spirit. 

Let us consider, then, together — What 
shall we find at the end of this existence ? 
What is there after death? This is the 
question of questions ; let us search for 
the answer. After death there can be but 
one of two things, — annihilation or life I 
There can be no other alternative ; it is 
impossible. Now, if you suppose that 
annihilation will be your lot, you are 
most wise in living as you do live, 
without anxiety about death and its 
consequences; you do well in amusing 
yourselves here below while you can ; 
you do well in heaping up gold ; you do 
well to go onward as your heart inclines 
you, and to follow the sight of your own 
eyes; eat, drink, be merry, for to-morrow 
you die. Wherefore should you submit 
to imaginary duties, for which no one 
can call you to account? Virtue becomes 
an idle word, vice merely legitimate gra- 
tification, conscience a mere prejudice, 
if annihilation is the end. Go on thus, 
from indulgence to indulgence, from one 
triumph over virtue to another, and 
allow others to do the same, until the 
whole fabric of society is dissolved. This 
is the logical result of your awful doc- 
trine. The description fills you with 
alarm. No, you exclaim, no, it is im- 
possible that I have been created merely 
for such an ezist^ence. Annihilation 
cannot be the end of life. It does 
violenoe to every feeling, disorganises 
society, makes this world a field of blood. 
No ! annihilation cannot be the truth ! 

We ai^e, then, going on to life ? Yes, 
to a life that will last for ever ! This is 
the second point that presents itself; 
no less important than the former. Let 
us proceed to examine it. The moment 
one admits that there is another life, 
he supposes it preceded by a judgment. 
Now, what will be that law by which 
our fate will be adjudged. If it be rigid, 
we have cause to fear ; if indulgent, we 
may hope. It is then essential to know 
beforehand the line of conduct which 
is required of us. Shall we accept the 

written law which says, that we mast 
love God with all our hearts, and our 
neighbours as ourselves? Such a require- 
ment will appear extravagant to some. 
Shall we take, then, the law of con- 
science, which confines itself to the pro- 
hibition of murder, robbery, lying, im- 
purity? No! even this severity would 
afiright others. Let us search, then, for 
a milder standard. Suppose that God 
requires of us one thing alone, and that 
most simple ; that he requires us only to 
adhere to truth. I ask, then, — Have we 
always been true? Have we never led 
others to understand that which we dared 
not boldly to affirm? Have we never 
exaggerated ? Have we never practised 
concealment ? Have the internal thought 
and the external action always corre- 
sponded ? Have we been ^ue from the 
moment we could first distinguish truth 
from falsehood? Let us omit even, if 
you desire it, the past. Could you 
to-day engage, with such a definition 
of truth as the above, under penalty of 
death, never to lie? Sift your con- 
science. Would not such an engagement 
be your death-warrant? You have not 
fulfilled, nay, you could not undertake to 
fulfil this most simple, most just, most 
easy of all moral laws ; and if a 4appy 
futurity be attainable on this condition, 
you must confess that you are not tendings 

But let us suppose the Divine code 
reduced to that single article, — ''Thou 
shalt do no murder. " Here is a law 
very simple, easy, and deeply inscribed 
on the conscience. Now permit me to 
ask if you have strictly observed even 
this. Admit that to conmiit murder is 
not always to thrust a dagger into the 
bosom of a fellow-creature, but that it 
is sometimes to strike with the hand in 
anger, to injure the health so that death 
may ensue, nay, even to ruin the fortune 
ana reputation of a man who cannot live 
independently of them. To commit 
murder, according to the French code, 
is even to project the deed without %eing 
able to compass it: and if the law of 
man requires, before it punishes, tl^it 
the crime should be attempted, it is oxiily 
because that law has not the power to 
read the project in the heart. Will God, 
however, take no account of our culpable 
thoughts, culpable desires? Will hatred, 
because it may have been concealed, be 
held innocent in his eyes ? If the con- 
sequences of all our bad feelings towards 
our fellow-meu could be gathered to- 



gether into one bundle, although 
separately each wounded but as a pin's 
point, united they would strike as the 
point of a sword. 

But perhaps you will reply: "What- 
ever may be his law, God will not 
require the strict observance of it; a 
man may observe it in one part, and 
violate it in another, and yet be acquitted. 
Do you not see, however, that, with such 
a code, each individual exercising the 
same right of selection as you, would fix 
the limit of obedience to suit his own 
peculiar views or purposes? Do you 
not see that we would have as many 
laws as there were criminals? and that 
those laws would be interpreted by the 
guilty parties themselves? Do you not 
see that each would declare himself 
innocent? The position is a manifest 

What law, then, can be applied to us, 
so that we may be all able to escape 
condemnation? Alas! in the kingdom 
of nature I find none. Rules the most 
simple, strictly interpreted, condemn us. 
To be absolved, we require a code which 
has imprinted on its first page, Grace ! 
on its second, Pardon! on its third, 
Mercy! And which has been sealed 
with the blood of a voluntary victim, 
who had beforehand expiated all our 
transgressions. With a code like this, I 
might be saved, but it is only such a 
code that can give me hope. It is to 
this point, dear reader, that you have in 
these pages been conducted step by step. 
A code of grace, of pardon, of mercy, 
sealed with the blood of a voluntary 
victim, slain for our transgressions, — such 
a code, blessed be God, exists I It is the 
gospel, and the victim is Jesus Christ! 
Every page of that book ofiers you freely 
heaven, happiness, eternity, on. the sole 
condition — if condition it can be called 
— of your believing with the heart in 
Him who wishes to give you them all. 

Reader, it is to your conscience that 
I address myself; not for my good, but 
for yours. You may reject what I say, 
but you cannot change the truth. I 
implore you, then, in the name of your 
own dearest interests, to read and read 
again the gospel, until at length, under 
the teaching of the Holy Spirit, you 
comprehend and taste the salvation, 
complete and free, offered to whosoever 
believes from the heart in the Lord 
Jesus Christ : ** God so loved the world, 
that he gave his only begotten Son, that 
whosoever belie veth in him should not 

perish, but have everlasting life," — John 
lii. 16j^ir. ^ R. 


Three miles from Kinross lies the 
parish of Cleish, where that sweet 
poetess, the sainted Mary Lundie, spent 
the closing years of her life, and in the 
church-yard of which lie her mortal 

It had just cleared off, after a violent 
shower, when two friends and myself — 
friends too of Mary's — set out to visit 
the parish, of which she was so long the 
ornament. As we drove along, the sun 
burst forth, shedding a lustre of glory on 
the distant hills, while directly over us 
hung a heavy cloud, which seemed to 
gather blackness by the contrast. This 
is one of the most retired parishes in 
Scotland. A high hill runs along the 
south of the little village (if the few 
houses around the church and manse 
can be called such), from the base of 
which the ground gradually rises to the 
foot of the Ochill Hills, that lie several 
miles to the north. We first passed the 
manse, where Mary lived, — an excellent 
stone house, with a pretty garden in 
front, well filled with bushes and trees. 
Procuring the keys from the sexton, and 
accompanied by his wife (in whose 
memory the image of Mary Lundie is 
still fresh and fragrant), we proceeded 
into the church. It is a plain, and 
rather small edifice of roughly-hewn 
stone. In the porch, opposite the en- 
trance, is the marble tablet, with a black 
framework, on which is the inscription 
to her memory, copied in the end of her 
biography. I went forward, and sat 
down in Mary s pew, while a flood of 
recollections of that amiable young 
creature, so soon cut down, rushed in 
upoD' me. 

Her grave is in the south- wast corner 
of that little burial-place. A plain slab 
of marble marks the spot, on which is 
the following inscription, "To the me- 
mory of Mary, wife of the Rev. Wallace 
W. Duncan, minister of Cleish, born 
April 26, 1814; married July 11, 1836; 
died January 5, 1840. Luke x. 42; 
Col. iv. 2 ; Rev. vii. 14-17. " Over her 
grave grows a sweet little rose-bush, 
planted by her husband, which is flourish- 
ing fair and beautiful, fit emblem of her 
who lies beneath. I plucked a branch 
from that little bush, as a remembrance 
of the spot where sleeps, until the resur- 
rection morn, all t^at is earthly of the 


Scottish pastor's wife. Well might Mrs. 
Sigourney, with such touching eloquence, 
exclaim, alter reading her hiography : 

" Sweet bird of Scotia's tuneful clime, 

So beautiful and dear, 
Whose music gush'd as genius taught, 
With Heaven's own quenchless spirit firaught, 

I list thy strain to hear." 

Her mother and biographer has said, 
<*The snow-drop may droop its pallid 
head over the turf that covers that pre- 
cious clay; and the primrose that she 
loved may open its fragrant petals amid 
the grass, showing that the hand of 
lingering affection has been there; 
mourning love may raise its modest 
tablet to tell whose child, whose wife, 
whose mother and friend is taken from 
the earth ; that is the work of those who 
are left to struggle out their pilgrimage ; 
but she is united to that family which 
cannot be dispersed or die, — ^adopted to 
that glorious parentage which endureth 
for ever, — and dwelling in that light 
which is ineffable and lull of glory. ''•— 
The Presbyterian. 


Above the ordinary level of the mini- 
stry and membership of the church, we 
occasionally see one and another rising 
up who become conspicuous for their 
great goodness and usefulness. We do 
not mean those who court notoriety by a 
noisy zeal, or by the clamour with which 
they urge forward some favourite hobby. 
We have learned to tbink little of such 
men, and to become offended with their 
officious pretensions. Far different are 
they from the men whom the love of 
Christ constrains and the love of souls 
inflames; such men as Brainerd, and 
Edwards, and Payson, of the New World ; 
and Wbitefield, and Martyn, and Francke, 
and Neff, of the Old. These men were 
not eager aspirants for fame, but while 
pursuing a far different object, fame 
attached itself to them. They left the 
impress of their zeal on the nei£;hbour- 
hoods in which they dwelt, and many 
rose up to call them blessed. Wherein 
consisted the secret of their usefulness ? 
Was it simply in their successful mental 
cultivation ? — Or in their powers of 
eloquence? No; but in their constant, 
devout, and humble waiting upon God. 
Prayer was their favourite resort, and the 
answer to it was the secret of their 
power. Christians of the present day 
may well take a lesson from auch meOi 

As a body, they are active ; but is there 
not reason to fear that there is too little of 
that importunate and earnest prayer which 
infuses life into the pulpit ? " Watch 
and pray " is a direction for all ; to the 
ministry, especially, it is a rule which 
cannot be neglected, without endanger- 
ing more than their own souls. 

— -^0^— 


Some of the most eventful changes in 
the constitution of England have been 
carried by feeble majorities. The great 
points of the national religion, under 
Elizabeth, were carried by six votes. 
The great question on the danger of 
Popery, in queen Anne's reign, was 
decided by a majority of 256 to 208. 
The Hanover succession was carried by 
a single vote! The Remonstrance, in 
Charles i.'s time, by eleven. The union 
with Scotland and Ireland, by very snaall 
majorities. The Reform in Parliament, in 
1831, by one ! The Habeas Corpus Bill 
is said to have been carried by mistake. 
The tellers in favour of it noticing a large 
peer, said he ought to count for four. 
The teller against the bill, in a fit of 
absence, put him down as four, and the 
mistake was not corrected. Such a story 
would be improbable now, when the lists 
of voters and proxies are accurately pub- 
lished in the next morning's papers. 


" In Kandy," says Mr. Sirr, " when a 
cobra is caught, instead of slaying the 
noxious vermin, and thus preventing 
further mischief, the people, wishing to 
be rid of it, will secure it, and convey it 
during the night to some distant village 
or jungle. Those who fear, and desire 
the destruction of the nuea, but whose 
superstition causes them tohesitate before 
they take life, compromise with their 
consciences by inclosmg the snake in a 
matbag, with some boiled rice for food, 
and place the receptacle, inmate, and 
food in a flowing stream, where the snake 
is certain to meet death either by drown- 
ing, or from the hands of some less scru- 
pulous devotee. Therefore, we warn our 
readers, if in the course of their peregri- 
nations, they should wander through the 
Cinnamon Isle, and see floating upon a 
river's sparkling surface a matbag, the 
mouth of which is tied with special care, 
not to open the same without due 




Not all the blood of the Plantagenets 
Can heal the leprosy of sin and shame. 

There are two opinions held respect- 
ing pedigree, that I can by no means 
entertain. The one is, that it is a per- 
sonal credit to a man to be descended 
from an ancient and noble family, irre- 
spective of his character heing good or 
bad. So far from this being the fact, I 
rather lean to the belief that, to be 
descended from a noble family, is a just 
reproach to every ignoble and unworthy 
member of it — ^rendering, as it does, his 
unworthiness the greater. Not even the 
far-famed herald, Sylvester PetrarSancta 
himself, with the kings-at-arms garter, 
Qarencieux, and Norroy, bedizened with 
or and argent, azure, gules, sable, vert, 
purpure, tenne, and sanguine, with all 
the shields, crests, supporters, and mot- 
tos they could muster, could convince 
me that a bad man can be really enno- 
bled by a noble descent. 

The other opinion to which I demur 
isy that for any one to ' be fond of his 
pedigree, and carefully to preserve an 
account of it, is of necessity a proof of 
pride and infirmity. So mudi am I 
opposed to this conviction, that I consider 
it obligatory on every one having honour- 
able ancestors, to cherish their memory 
and to emulate their virtues. 

Pedigree is a highly-interesting sub- 
ject, and may be made a very profitable 
one. The knowledge that we are all 
descended from Adam, should be suffi- 
cient to restrain us from foolish ostenta- 
tion ; and, besides this, it should be 
remembered that — 

*' They vho on virtuous ancestors enlarge. 
Produce their debt instead of their discharge." 

The scrupulous exactness with which 
the Jews preserved their pedigrees, and 
the evidences of genealogy with which the 
Holy Scriptures abound, are perhaps the 
origia of our more modern practice of 
collecting and preserving the names of 
individuals of whom a family has con- 
sisted. Monarchs, nobles, and those of 
high degree, are most attached to genea- 
logy. The following epigram may re- 
prove such as are unreasonably and 
unseasonably anxious about their pedi- 

Thoughtleu Doo, out at elbows, felt countless 

In obtaifliDg his family old eoat of arms. 

" Advise me," said he, " for I'm not worth a 

groat" — 
"I advise thee," quoth Will, "to get arms to thy 

coat." ' 

Hardly do I know which of the two is 
the more unwise — he who, having noble 
and virtuous ancestors, neglects to make 
them models for his imitation — or he 
who, in rags, occupies himself in trying 
to prove the greatness of his descent, 
instead of endeavouring to relieve the 
poverty of his position. Like most other 
things in the world, a fondness for pedi- 
gree may be used or abused. It may 
strengthen virtuous propensities, or foster 
the pride and vanity of the human heart. 

I nave been led to the consideration of 
this subject by the following lines from 
a gifted pen, which happened to come 
within my notice. They were, I believe, 
an introduction to some poetic pieces on 
pedigree, and were addressed to a zealous 
and indefatigable young clergyman, of 
high and ancient family, who, passing by 
fair prospects of worldly prosperity, by 
conscientious choice devoted himself to 
the work of the ministry. The two great 
pedigrees, to one or other of which we all 
may be said to belong, in these lines are 
clearly set forth : 

** Take, reverend sir, my little Fancy's dream, 
Thus harmless, sporting round the heart's 

For one whose choice his youth and strength has 

To guide his fellow-pilgrims on to heaven. — 
To tell them not of earthly pedigree. 
Of wealth, and power, and blazon'd heraldry. 
Oh, no ! to teach them that the lowly heart 
In all that's truly great alone has part. — 
To show them how, beyond each bauble's blaze, 
With bright-eyed faith to fix their stedfast gaze 
On the dread glories of that awful day, 
When earth and all her crowns shall fade away. — 
When all mankind, array'd on either hand. 
On two great pedigrees alone shall stand; 
While by the mighty Judge their race is told. 
The child ofGod^ or of the serpent old." 

This unique mode of disposing of the 
question — this simple division of genea- 
logy into two great pedigrees, will hardly 
prove so acceptable to the higli and 
mighty as to the Christian world, inas- 
much as the word of God declares — 
" Not many wise men after the flesh, not 
many mighty, not many noble, are called : 
but God hath chosen the foolish things 
of the world to confound the wise ; and 
God hath chosen the weak things of the 
world to confound the things which are 
mighty, . . . that no flesh should glory in 
his presence. He that glorieth, let him 
glory in the Lord," 1 Cor. i. 26—31 ; 
but I am not aware that this is a valid 



objection to the decision. It is as much 
the duty and the advantage of the high as 
of the low to follow after the things which 
belong to their peace, for "|;odline88 is 
profitable unto all things, having promise 
of the life that now is, and of that which 
is to come," 1 Tim. iv. 8. 

However fond any one mav be of pedi- 
gree, a glance at the escutcheons of our 
nobility, must convince him that some of 
their supporters, crests, and mottos must, 
when devised, have been much more cal- 
culated to pamper pride and engender 
strife than to inculcate humility and pro- 
mote peace. It must, however, be ad- 
mitted that words acquire force or lose 
their power according to the sphere of 
their operation, and that a motto that 
serves as an influential war-cry, may be 
impotent and meaningless in a season of 

Among the more hostile and, ostenta- 
tious mottos, may be mentioned the 
following: — " Frangasy nonfleciea ;" you 
may break, you shall not bend me. " Je 
maintiendrai ;" I will maintain. '^MeHi- 
enda corolla draconis ;" fear the dragon's 
crest. Ride through. Strike. Fight. **Non 
revertar inultus; " I will not return unre- 
venged. " Avi numerantur avorum; *' I 
follow a long train of ancestors. " For- 
tem posce animum ;*' ask for a brave soul. 
'^SequoTf nee inferior;" I follow, but I 
am not inferior. But think not, ye pedi- 
gree-loving sons of greatness, that bra- 
very and high-mindedness will excuse 
the want of courtesy and kind-hearted- 
ness : — 

Think not escutcheons, and a marble stone, 
Though fairly form'd and fashioned, can atone 
For want of kindly deeds, or bid survive 
A fame that ye deserve not when alive. 
When moulders in the dust the mortal frame, 
The noble and ignoble are the same. 
If ye among the sons of man would blend 
Your fame and glory, learn to be their friend ; 
Do good to man, and through each fleeting hour 
Acknowledge Him who gaye you all your power : 
Do this, ye proud, lest ye should seek in vain 
That heaven, the lowly only can attain. 

A glorious motto, if taken in a right 
sense, is the following — " In omnia para- 
tus;" prepared for everything. What! 
for everything? Then may you well be 
regarded as strong men ; but let me look 
a little more narrowly to your coat of 
arms. I see that its supporters are a 
man in armour, holding a spear, and a 
rampant stag with branching antlers on 
his head ; and both look so wondrously 
warlike, that they suggest the thought 
that the motto merely means, prepared 
for all things in the shape of an attack ; 

or, in other words, prepared f«r war. 

But there are other things to be prepared 
for besides war, and therefore Old Hum- 
phrey ventures to ask you. Is your armour 
trial proof? Sickness proof ? Death-bed 
proof? Judgment proof? Nay, is it 

Eroof against eternal fire? for if not, then 
ave you as much reason as the meanest 
and weakest of your dependants to put 
on another suit of armour, even the 
breastplate of righteousness and the hel- 
met of salvation, and to arm yourselves 
with the shield of faith and the sword of 
the Spirit. Do this, and your motto will be 
strictly in keeping with your position, for 
you will be, indeed, " prepared for every- 

The following mottos are excellent of 
their kind: — *^Aperto vivere voto;*' to 
live without guile. ''Bear and forbear." 
** Cassis tutissima virtus;" virtue is the 
safest helmet. " Finem respice ; '* regard 
the end. " Nil desperandum ; ** never 
despair : and " Semper fidelis ; " always 
faithful. These mottos are capable of 
universal application. A bitter or a 
boastful motto is ill suited to one whose 
life is '' even a vapour, that appeareth for 
a little time, and then vanisneth away," 
Jas. iv. 14. Of how little importance 
will the honours of this world be to us 
when we are in another ! 

How gladly would the illustrious dead that lie 
Enshrined in pomp, and pride, and pageantry. 
Could they look back and mark with thoughtful 

The littleness of all things here below,— 

How gladly would they, while with honest shame 
They read the marble that extols thoir name. 
Erase the record of the lying stone. 
And write, " My glory is the Lord alone ! " 

But there are not wanting among the 
mottos on the escutcheons of our nobility 
those of a decidedly religious kkid, — 
which in prosperity and adversity, joy 
and sorrow, life and death, may be turned 
to good account. Such are the few that 
follow: — ** Benigno numine;" by God's 
blessi ng. * * Dominus providebii ; ' ' God 
will provide. ** In te, Domine speravi ; " 
in thee, O Lord, have I put my trust. 
^*Ex fide fortis;" strong through faith. 
" Spes mea Christus; " Christ is my hope. 
He who can look back to a long line of 
ancestors, whose lives have been in agree- 
ment with these mottos, may well put a 
high value on bis pedigree. "iVofei/i- 
tatis virtus non stemma character '* — vir- 
tue, not pedigree, is the mark of nobility 
— ^is, I believe, the motto of the earl of 
Grosvenor (now marquis of Westmin* 



ster), nor would it be an easy thing 
to gainsay its truth. Perhaps the more 
we sift the subject, the more we shall be 
disposed to admit that a fondness for 
pedigree may be a good or an evil, ac- 
cording to the use to which it is applied, 
and that, according to a correct Christian 
standard, pedigree includes two classes 
only — the children of light and the chil* 
dren of darkness : — 

Let others fondly seek the vain reward, 

The fleeting phantom of this world's regard ; 

Be theirs at every hassard to be great. 

To live in splendour, and to rot in state ; 

But, ehristian, thou with nobler aims must rise ! 

Tkis world thy prison-house, thy home the skies. 

JOave, then, the proud to grasp the rod of power, 

The glittering baubles of an earthly hour; 

To bid the prostrate throng in homage bow, 

And place a diadem upon their brow : 

Thy crown with brighter gems than theirs shall 

Ekrth is their kingdom, heaven above is thine. 



In the eastern suburb of the town 
(Cromarty), where the land presents a 
low, yet projecting front to the waves, 
the shore is hemmed in by walls and bul- 
warks, which might be mistaken by a 
stranger approaching the place by sea for 
a chain of little forts. They were erected 
during the wars of Che five winters, by 
the proprietors of the gardens and houses 
behmd; and. the enemy against whom 
they had to maintain them was the sea. 
At first the contest seemed well nigh 
hopdess ;— week after week was spent in 
throwing up a single bulwark, and an 
assault of a few hours demolished a whole 
line. But skill and perseverance pre- 
▼aifed at last ; — the storms are all blown 
ovar, but the gardens and houses still 
remain. Of the many who planned and 
built during the war, the most indefati- 
gable, the most skilful, the most success- 
ful, was Donald Miller. 

Donald was a true Scotchman. He 
was bred a shoemaker, and painfully did 
he ^il, li^te and early, for about twenty- 
five years, with one solitary object in 
view, which, during all that time, he had 
never lost sight of-— no, not for a single 
naonient. And what was that one?-— 
Independence,— a competency sufficient 
to set him above the necessity of further 
toil ; and this he at length achieved, with- 
out doing aught for which the severest 
censor could accuse him of meanness. 
Hie amount of his savings did not exceed 

four hundred pounds; but, rightly deem- 
ing himself wealthy, — ^for he had not 
learned to love money for its own sake, — 
he shut up his shop. His father dying 
sqpn after, he succeeded to one of the 
snuggest, though most perilously-situated 
little properties within the three comers 
of Cromarty — the sea bordering it on the 
one side, and a stream, small and scanty 
during the drought of summer, but some- 
times more than sufficiently formidable 
in winter, sweeping past it on the other. 
The series of storms came on, and Donald 
found he had gained nothing by shutting 
up his shop. He had built a bulwark in 
the old lumbering Cromartv style of the 
last century, and confined the wander- 
ings of the stream by two straight walls. 
Across the walls he had first thrown a 
wooden bridge, and crowned the bulwark 
with a parapet, when on came the first of 
the storms — a night of sleet and hurri- 
cane ; and lo I in the morning the bulwark 
lay utterly overthrown, and the bridge, 
as if it had marched to its assistance, lay 
beside it, half buried in sea-wreck. " Ah ! " 
exclaimed the neighbours, " it would be 
well for us to be as sure of our summer's 
employment as Donald Miller, honest 
man!" Summer came; — the bridge 
strided over the stream as before, the 
bulwark was built anew, and with such 
neatness and apparent strensth, that no 
bulwark on the beach could compare 
with it. Again came winter; and the 
second bulwark, with its proud parapet 
and rock-like strength, shared the fate of 
the first. Donald fairly took to his bed. 
He rose, however, with renewed vigour ; 
and a third bulwark, more thoroughly 
finished than even the second, stretched 
in the beginning of autumn between his 
property and the sea. Throughout the 
whole of that summer, from grey morning 
to grey evening, there might be seen on 
the shore of Cromarty a decent-looking, 
elderly man, armed with lever and mat- 
tock, rolling stones, or raising them from 
their beds in the sand, or fixing^ them 
together in a sloping wall — toiling as 
never labourer toiled, and ever and anon, 
as a neighbour sauntered by the way, 
straightening his wearied back, and ten- 
dering the ready snufi-box. That decent- 
looking elderly man was Donald Miller. 
But his toil was all in vain. Again came 
winter and the storms; — again had he 
betaken himself to his bed, for his third 
bulwark had gone the way of the two 
others. With a resolution truly indo- 
mitable, he rose yet again, and erected a 



fourth bulwark, which has now presented 
one unbroken front to the storms of 
twenty years. 

Though Donald had never studied 
mathematics, as taught in books or the 
schools, he was a profoupd mathemati- 
cian notwithstanding. Experience had 
taught him the superiority of the sloping 
to the perpendicular wall in resisting the 
waves; and. he set himself to discover 
that particular angle which, without being 
inconveniently low, resists them best. 
Every new bulwark was a new experi- 
ment made on principles which he had 
discovered in the long nights of winter, 
when, hanging over the fire, he converted 
the hearth-stone into a tablet, and, with a 
pencil of charcoal, scribbled it over with 
diagrams. But he could never get the 
sea to join issue with him by changing in 
the line of his angles ; for, however deep 
he sunk his foundations, his insidious 
enemy contrived to get under them by 
washing away the beach ; and then the 
whole wall tumbled into the cavity. Now, 
however, he had discovered a remedy. 
First, he laid a row of large flat stones on 
their edges in the line of the foundation, 
and paved the whole of the beach below 
imtil it presented the appearance of a 
sloping street — taking care that his pave- 
ment, by running in a steeper angle than 
the shore, should at its lower edge bore 
itself in the sand. Then, from the fiat 
stones which formed the upper boundary 
of the pavement, he built a ponderous 
wall, which, ascending in the proper 
angle, rose to the level of the garden; 
and a neat, firm parapet surmounted the 
whole. Winter came, and the storms 
came ; but tlioueh the waves broke against 
the bulwark with as little remorse as ever, 
not a stone, however, moved out of its 
place. Donald had, at length, fairly 
triumphed over the sea. — Hugh Miller, 


Allen was sent to the city when quite 
a lad ; the new scenes and new objects 
which met his eye, so unlike the quiet 
and unchanging life of his native village, 
filled him with interest and excitement. 
He never felt tired of looking and walk- 
ing about in the time spared from his 
employment. Amongst other places, of 
which he heard much, was the theatre. 
Some of his associates went, and there 
was no end to the wonderful stories they 

told of what they saw and heard. AUea 
felt a rising desire to go too. He re- 
sisted it, however. 

"Come," said one of his companions, 
" go with us to-night." 

" No," answered Allen, " not to- 

'' So you always say, ' Not to night.' 
Come, decide at once to go" 

" No, not this time." 

" What I afraid to go ? It will do you 
no harm ; it never did me harm." 

"Not to>night," still replied Allen, 
walking away. 

" You shall have a ticket, if you win 
only come," again urged Allen's com- 

Allen shook his head. " No, no," said 
he, " no, no ; keep it yourself, I cannot 
take it." 

" How obstinate," rejoined the other; 
" why, what can be your reason ? " 

Allen hesitated for a moment. " My 
mother told me not to go to the theatre ; 
therefore I cannot go," he at length 
firmly replied. His companion ceased to 
urge longer ; he beheld in Allen's face a 
settled purpose to obey, and be left 
without saying a word more. That was 
one of his mother's last injunctions before 
he left home, — *' My son, do not go to 
the theatre." He did not know the 
nature of its evils, nor the extent of its 
dangers. He had not been in the city 
lonff enough to discover them. Under 
such circumstances, some* lads might 
have said, "Why, I see no harm in 
theatres ; why should I not f o ? I see 
no reason why I cannot. My mother, I 
fancy, did not know as much as she 
thought she did ; she, away off at home, 
cannot always tell what is what ; besides, 
other young men of my age go." I say, 
some lads might have reasoned thus, and 
disobeyed, and gone. 

Not so Allen. His mother bade him 
not to go, and that was sufficient for him. 
He trusted to her knowledge, and con- 
fided in her judgment, and be meant to 
obey her ; yes, and what is better ^still, 
he was not afraid to say so. 

It was a wise decision ; and if every 
youth away from home had moral cou- 
rage enough to decide doubtful question's 
in the same way, there would be many 
better men for it. Young people, you 
will find subjects coming up, in your 
intercourse with other lads, which, on first 
sight, you think you see no harm in 
viewing as they do; at any rate, you 
cannot exactly contend against them in 



argument; yet, all the while you feel 
that they have not got the right side, 
because almost all pious people, and the 
Bible too, are against them. Now, what 
shall you reply to their persuasions ? 

Why, stand up and say, ''I do not 
wish to contend with you ; but my 
mother says not so — my parents think 
differently— -all good men declare on the 
other side — God, in his word, forbids it ; 
and, for my part, I will obey my parents. 
I will cast my opinions into the scale 
with good men, and take the Bible for 
my guide." Then, my lads, you are 
safe. As youths, you do not know enough 
always to form correct opinions. Trust 
always, in such cases, to the received 
opinions of older and wiser and better 
beads than your own; trust in the 
wisdom of God. This is a species of 
argument at once manly and safe. Like 
Allen, do not hesitate to avow, when 
persuaded to a doubtful course, ** My 
mother told me not, therefore I cannot." 
Still better, however, to be able to say, 
with Joseph of old, when tempted, ** How 
can I do this great wickedness, and sin 
against God?" 

Allen is now an excellent clergyman. 


There was at Rimini (in the Pontifi- 
cal States), in the small church of St. 
Clare, an ordinary picture of the Virgin 
on canvass, which had belonged to some 
nuns, and had been afterwards suspended 
in an obscure corner of the chancel. For 
long years nobody paid it any attention ; 
it was a Madonna, like any other Ma- 
donna. But suddenly its eyes are ani- 
mated with a ** superhuman brilliancy ;" 
they have the " clearness of those of a 
living person;" sometimes they turn 
heavenward with an angelic expression ; 
sometimes they are cast down towards 
the earth ; in short, the Madonna^ as the 
bishop of Rimini, signer Salvatore Lazi- 
roli, says, ''moves her compassionate 
eyes in all directions." His testimony is 
corroborated by that of the worthy epis- 
copal canon, A. Marazzani. 

The prodigy soon excited a great stir 
in the city. The whole population flocked 
together — bishops, priests, nobles, bur- 
gesses, artists, operatives, and peasants. 
The church of St. Clare could not con- 
.tain so great a multitude ; the holy pic- 
ture was removed in procession into the 

church of St. Augustine, and that the 
motion of its compassionate eyes might 
be the better verified, the glass which 
covered it was removed. The prodigy 
did not cease on this account, and the 
mouths of the incredulous were shut. 
They even mention some Austrian mili- 
tary officers, who came for the express 
purpose of contemplating the miraculous 
canvass, and one of them was so much 
struck with it, that he bowed his head to 
the ground, and unfastening one of his 
decorations, he offered it as ex voto (a 
votive offering to God) on the altar of 
the virgin Mary. 

At sight of the moving- eyed picture, 
the most hardened sinners fall a sobbing, 
and in a loud voice confess their iniqui- 
ties; sick persons have been suddenly 
cured ; cripples have been made straight. 
But observe what follows : '' How can we 
estimate," says the ** Bologna Gazette," 
copied by the " Univers," *' all that has 
been offered to the miraculous image ? 
The altar every day is incumbered with 
wax lights ; objects of value are unceas- 
ingly brought to it; pieces of money are 
showered nrom all sides. . . . Not a 
carriage passes without stopping ; not a 
stranger, of whatever nation or religion, 
passes through the town without going 
immediately to the church of St. Augus- 
tine. The diligences from Rome and 
Boloena arrive, and while they are chang- 
ing horses, the passengers run to the 
altar of Mary. The neighbouring towns 
have not sufficient means of conveyance 
for all who wish to visit Rimini. The high 
price of seats stops nobody. . . It is 
ages since Rimini has seen so many 
people within its walls. There is a de- 
mand, on all sides, for copies of the 
holy picture ; day and night they are 
producing them ; but the press multi- 
plies them in vain ; there never is enough 
of them." 

" More than this — the country of 
Rimini," says one of the ultramontane 
papers, ** was that portion of the Roman 
States where reigned dispositions most 
opposite to the temporal domination of 
the popes. That people," it adds, " which 
never could have been vanquished, ex- 
cept by miracles, finds itself subdued, 
prostrate. It was asked how the pope 
could succeed in contenting the spirit of 
the age, and appease the pretensions of 
the constitutional mania; grave politi- 
cians had set out for the express purpose 
of seeing how the holy pope would extri- 
cate himself from a difficulty, which they 



declared in advance to be insurmountable. 
As a correspendent of the '' Roman Ob- 
server " says, in a manner as judicious as 
poetical, '* the holy Virgin obtained the 
victory by a twinkle of her eyes. This 
is always classic ground : nutuUremefecit 

I was about to cite still one or two 
other miracles of the Roman clergy, but 
I prefer finishing my letter with one of 
the miracles of Jesus Christ. I take them 
from the last communications from Lyons. 
From that city they write : '< A woman, 
very zealous for the Roman Church, and 
who from the first received our evangelists 
unkindly, because they troubled her con- 
science, finished by begging them not to 
return till she had studied the New Tes- 
tament, at a distance from all human 
influence. At the end of some days 
examination and prayer, while she was 
engaged in preparing dinner, there fell 
as if a bandage from her eyes ; she under- 
stood the truth, and received peace. A 
few moments afterwards, the priest 
entered, and began to reason with her 
very learnedly, in order to engage her to 
confess. She replied, ** Sir, you are more 
learned than I am, and I cannot refute 
you ; but one thing I know well ; it is, 
that now I have peace, and you will not 
be able to take it away from me.*' Her 
joy was so lively that her health sufiered 
from it ; and on the Lord's day following, 
when one of us asked her how she was, 
she replied, *' I am ill ; but I am ill with 

Who but the great deceiver could so 
blind the eyes of men, that they see 
nothing to admire in these wonderful 
works of grace, while they are filled with 
astonishment by the pretended miracles 
before a painted ipicture l^American 


One day Jaenike, pastor of the Bohe- 
mian church in Berlin, met four military 
officers, who followed him with scoffs and 
jeers. — " Ah ! there is Jaenike I Jaenike 
the bigot, the fanatic! the mad Bohe- 
mian ! Jaenike, who would convert us 
all to his superstitions!" Instead of 
complaining, the pastor spoke to them 
with the utmost meekness, and went 
away praying for them. Some time 
after, one of these officers went to ask 
from this madman spiritual advice. 
Jaenike received him cordially, explained 

to him the work of Christ for the salva- 
tion of sinners, and concluded by praying 
fervently for the Divine blessing on bia 
soul. The young officer retired, much 
affected ; and the next Sunday he went 
to hear the pastor, concealing himself 
behind a pillar in the building; for he 
dared not appear openly in a congrega- 
tion so despised by the world. He soon 
became, however, one of the most faith- 
ful members of his church, and used his 
influence over his three companions with 
such effect, that they too sought the peace 
which made him so happy ; and Jaenike 
had at last the joy to see among the dis- 
ciples of the Saviour all the four officers 
who had so grossly insulted him, — a new 
proof that patience and charity are 
all-powerful to soften even the hardest 

Jaenike was a man of prayer. He 
passed hours together before the Lord, 
presenting to him his own wants and the 
wants of his brethren. Germany was 
then in a state of war and desolation. 
Prussia had been invaded by the armies 
of Napoleon. The pious pastor assem- 
bled his flock three times every sabbath, 
and almost every day in the week, in 
order to invoke the blessings of the Most 
High in behalf of his country. A little 
after, the Prussians gained the victory of 
Gross-Beeren ; and some officers who 
had met at a national festival having 
tried again to turn Jaenike into ridicule, 
a general said to them sharply, " The 
man whom you deride has contributed to 
gain the battle. He has prayed day and 
night, with his flock, to the God of bat- 
tles. Who dares still abuse such a man ? 
Is he not worthy, on the contrary, to 
receive all honour for his piety, his 
fidelity to the Lord, to the king, and to 
the country? May God long preserve 
such a devoted servant ! " 

Jaenike was also familiar with the 
Bible. After having read the Scriptures 
many times, he re-read them continually 
with new delight, and discovered in them 
new treasures. He passed part of his 
nights in these excellent meditations. 
During the last year of his life, a pastor 
of Berlin passing before his house at a 
late hour, perceived still a light at his 
window, and wished to see what he was 
doing. He found him sitting with a 
Hebrew Bible in his hand, and his face 
beaming with heavenly joy. ** Ah, dear 
brother," said Jaenike to him, after the 
first salutations, *' what an unfathomable 
depth each word of the Bible contains ! 



I was just reflecting upon tbe rich and 
sublime meaning of the word Elohm, and 
I cannot leave off pondering it. What 
other occupation should I have— I, a poor 
aiTd feeble old man — ^but to converse with 
my good Saviour, who has borne with 
me 80 meekly through all my sinful life, 
and who pardons me so kindly? I can- 
not enougn read his holy word ; and the 
more I search it, tbe greater the treasures 
I discover. It is only now, when I come 
to the close of my life, that I see clearly 
how ignorant I have been of the profound 
meaning of the Bible. 


In every enjoyment, O Christian, look 
unto Jesus; receive it as proceeding 
from his love, and purchased by his 
agonies. In every tribulation look unto 
Jesus; mark his gracious hand managing 
the scourge, or mingling the bitter cup ; 
attempering it to a proper degree of 
severity; adjusting the time of its con- 
tinuance ; and ready to make these 
seeming disasters productive of real good. 
In every infirmity and failing look unto 
Jesus, thy merciftil high-priest, pleading 
his atoning blood, and making inter- 
cession for transgressors. In every 
prayer look unto Jesus, thy prevailing 
Advocate, recommending thy devotions, 
and ''bearing the iniquity of thy holy 
things. " In every temptation look unto 
Jesus, the author of thy strength and 
Captain of thy salvation, who alone is 
able to lift up the hands which hang 
down, to invigorate the enfeebled knees, 
and make thee more than conqueror over 
aU thy enemies. But especially, when 
the hour of thy departure approaches, 
— when thy flesh and thy heart fail, — 
when all the springs of life are irre- 
parably breaking, then look unto Jesus 
with a believing eye. Like expiring 
Stephen, behold him standing at the 
right hand of God, on purpose to succour 
his people in this their last extremity. 
Yes, my Christian friend, when thy jour- 
ney through life is finished, and thou art 
arrived on the very verge of mortality, — 
when thou art just launching out into the 
invisible world, and all before thee is 
vast eternity, — then, oh then, look unto 
Jesus. See by faith the Lord's Christ. 
View him as the only "way" to tbe 
everlasting mansions, as the only ''door'' 
to the abodes of bliss. — Rev. James 


" I said, I will take heed to my ways, that I sin 
not with my tongue.'^^PsALic xzxix. 1. 

The power of the tongue cannot be 
calculated by any faculties at our com- 
mand. Here is, indeed, one of man's 
highest distinctions. Without this ad- 
mirable gift, reason and devotion would 
be, in an important respect, imprisoned^ 
Speech is the vehicle of good and of evil. 
Hence arises a responsibility, which is 
far too little regarded by many who pro- 
fess to revere the awflil pages in which it 
is most strongly asserted. All just oh* 
servation, nevertheless, brings its tribute 
to the didactics of Holy Scripture. It 
might inspire the utmost caution* in the 
use of this gift, to remember that words 
are irrevocable. Rare, indeed, is the 
example of a man who has not at some 
time, and under some impulse, uttered 
what he would now gladly recall at the 
greatest possible cost. All ages are elo- 
quent of warning on this subject. A thou- 
sand voices echo the witness of Simonides, 
— "I never yet repented having been 
silent, but often that I had spoken." 

None will expe^ us to applaud the 
sullen anchorites, sages, or pietists, who 
have in other times resolved to spend 
whole years in silence. But let not wiser 
men disdain the instruction to be drawn 
even from these cases. Such discipline, 
though misguided and lamentably extra- 
vagant, tells of the deep conviction that 
" in the multitude of words there wanteth 
not sin." There is, according to the 
royal preacher, " a time to keep silence ;" 
but there is also " a time to speak." 
What is implied, then, in the right 
government of the tongue 1 

" He that will love life, and see good 
days," is admonished by an apostle to 
" refrain his tongue from evil, and his 
lips that they speak no guile," 1 Pet. iii. 
1 0. The obligation is far more extensive 
than the unreflecting perceive. Closely 
allied to the accuracy of truth are the 
habits of deliberation and self-denial. 
Much speaking rarely consists with hu- 
mility. It sullies the beauty of benefi- 
cence. It tends to diminish Christian 
influence, and not less certainly to gratify 
the passions of an unrenewed nature. A 
garrulous professor of religion shrinks 
from wilful falsehood. But does he con- 
sider how tender and sacred are the 
claims of truth, — how jealous, how im- 
patient of violation, is its majesty, — and 
how a due allegiance, awake to the 
slightest deviation, would constrain htm 



to weigh every word and every promise, 
to bear in memory the bindinc; sense in 
which he believes it understood, and then 
to maintain purest fidelity? Does he 
consider, again, that one great law ex- 
tends to words and actions ; yea, to every 
intelligible mode of suggesting thought ? 
It may be justly added (to quote the 
phrase of good bishop Hall), that there is 
even ** a lying silence." 

Great attention is due to the selection 
and arrangement of our topics. Is it 
needful to repeat an apostle's warning 
against all ** corrupt communication," as 
opposed to " that which is good, to the 
use of edifying," and which " ministers 
grace to the hearers ? " Every thinp; allied 
to the old depravity is to be avoided by 
the earnest Christian. In the list of things 
** not to be once named among" the early 
disciples at Ephesus, ** as becometh 
saints," St. Paul specifies " foolish talk- 
ing" and << jesting. (Compare Eph. iv. 
29, and v. 3, 4.) Impure conversation 
is the sure index to vile affections unsub- 
dued in the heart ; but a greater danger 
often arises from topics which are deemed 
harmless, though cotflsssed to be trivial. 
Much conversation on these will not be 
indulged by ^e man who takes heed to 
his ways. Born of God, and contend- 
ing for the skies, he feels bound to rise 
above the fashions and vanities that pass 
away. He remembers his pilgrim state, 
and fixes his eye on the permanent and 
unbounded future. Nothing on earth is 
great. Objects which, with transient 
glare, attract the common admiration, 
fade in the blaze of an unsetting 

" As Mtiih'B fires grow dim before the rising day." 

The innocence of the tongue demands, 
moreover, an arrangement of those topics 
which are clearly right and necessary. 
God's law is infringed, for example, by 
worldly discourse on the sacred day. ''If 
thou turh away thy foot from the sabbath, 
from doing thy pleasure on my holv day ; 
and call the saboath a delight, the holy of 
the Lord, honourable; and shalt honour 
him, not doing thine own ways, nor find- 
ing thine own pleasure, nor speaking 
thine own words : then shalt thou delight 
thyself in the Lord ; and I will cause 
thee to ride upon the high places of the 
earth, and feed thee with the heritage of 
Jacob thy father : for the mouth of the 
Lord hath spoken it," Isa. Iviii. 13, 14. 

He who '* offends not in word," is pro- 
nounced by St. James " a perfect man." 

But where shall we find him ? Where is 
the proficient in this school of heavenly 
wis£>m, who habitually speaks of himself 
with humility, of others with charity, 
and of God with reverential awe ? — ^e 


Indecision niins souls by millions. 
Truth and conscience and the Spirit plead 
for duty and right ; pleasure and riches 
and ambition tempt to sin and ruin. 
Thousands know the better path of hap- 
piness and peace, but follow the road that 
leads to death. 

Prescott, the eminent historian, relates 
that Pizarro the conqueror of Peru, in 
one of his reverses, was cast upon the 
island of Gallo, with a few of his fol- 
lowers. When in a starving condition, 
two vessels arrived from Panama for his 
relief, and to induce him to abandon his 
object. Now came the test of his deci- 
sion of character, and the determination 
of his earthly destiny. <* Drawing his 
sword, he traced a line with it in the 
sand, from east to west. Then turning 
towards the south, ' Friends and com- 
rades,' he said, 'on that side are toil, 
hunger, nakedness, the drenching storm, 
desolation, and death ; on this side, ease 
and pleasure. There lies Peru, with its 
riches; here, Panama and its poverty. 
Choose, each man, what becomes a brave 
Castilian. For my part, I go to the 
south.' So saying, he stepped across the 
line. He was followed by eleven others," 
and Peru was conquered. 

Could we encircle each impenitent 
reader with a line drawn by the sword of 
the Spirit, we would say, " Dying man, 
there are self-denial, and providential dis- 
cipline, and fearful conflicts, and cease- 
less toils, and ultimate victory and re- 
ward ; here are present ease, and fleeting 
joys, and empty honours. There is hea- 
ven, with its glories ; here is earth, with 
its pleasures ; and yonder, hell, with its 
destiny of misery. 'Choose you this 
day whom ye will serve,' and where 
you will go. Eternity hinges on your 
decision — an eternity of bliss or woe ! " — 
American Messenger. 


"How," said Mr. Munsell to Mr. 
Yates, " do you accomplish so much in 
so short a time? Have you any parti- 
cular plan 7" <<Ihave. When I have any- 
thing particular to do, I go and do it." 



Oh the moraing of January 12ih, 
1850, aa a woman was cUaning some 
TviudowB in North-Btreet, Finibury, Lou- 
don, she observed a gentleman, who, 
from his dress, appeared to be a clergy- 
man, stagger and fall to the ground. 
Assistance was rendered, but it was 
wholly unavailing ; life waa extinct. 
From a card found in his pocket, the 
name of the individual thus suddenly 
summoned into the eternal world nas 
ascertained to be Spenaei Tbotntan. An 
hour or two before, he had, in the prime 
of life, and apparently in excellent 
health and vpirita, quitted a circle of 
friends. Ere the morning aun that ahone 
upon him, however, had reached ita uie- 
tldian height, he was a lifeless corpse ! 
All who Inew him mourned hia luas 
deeply, yet all felt that a translation to 
heaven in chariots of fire could not hare 
conveyed to hia aucvivors a more com- 
fortable assurance of hia safety than that 
which wai inspired b^ his eminently 
holy life and aurpassins love to the 
Saviour. Wiih him, sudden death must 
indeed have been sudden glory. 

Spenser Thornton, on whom this high 
culogiura has been pronounced, vai born 
in London, on the 13th of October, IS13. 
Although carefully trained by a pious 

Apeii., 1851. 

mother, he did not, for the firat twdre 
years of his life, manifest any ugnt of 
true conversion. Accustomed, however, 
to obey his parents, he was not deterred 
at the first school to which he went, by 
the ridicule of hie companions, from re- 
peating every night and morning a prayer 
from a little work called " Daily Bread." 
Upon the Sunday morning also, when at 
home, he would get up long before tha 
family, to viait the cottages of the neigh- 
bouriugpoor; eshorling the inmates to 
put on their best clothes, and prepare for 
church. Still, iu all this, however pleas- 
ing, there was no evidence that hie piely 
was more than the performance of soma 
external acts, suggested by a correct 
early training and a naturally active dig- 

In 1828, he removed to Rugby School, 
then under the auperintendence of tha 
well-known Dr. Arnold. A deep spi- 
ritual change here passed upon Spenser 
Thornton. The Holy Spirit convinced 
him of sin, and led him to the Saviour, 
as the only refuge of perishing tinners. 
At first, seeing the spintuality and extent 
of the Divine law, he was troubled with 
apprehensions that he waa too great a 
sinner to be saved. Atermon, however, 
by the rev. Hugh M'Neile, on the text, 
" Where sin abounded, grace did much 
more abound," was the happy means of 



leading him to solid peace. Let none 
sneer at bis experience, as if it were 
morbid feeling in a youth so moral and 
so amiable to tremble at the greatness of 
his sins. All sin, when seen in the light 
of the cross, is pereeived to be exceeding 

Spenser Thornton now felt what has 
happily been termed "the expulsire 
power of a new afibttion." Love to the 
Saviour became hit principle of action ; 
and, youthftil as be Was, he oegan actively 
to laDour for the good of others. His 
8chool«fellowi werd naturally the first 
objecte to wtiom bis efibrts were direct6d| 
and over ibiffi bi ipeedily addtlired greal 
influence, by bil manly Ettt moddit 
piety. " It wai no lore of ditplajr/' iajra 
his biographeri '' wbich led him on one 
occasion to remonstrate with an elder 
boy for swearing in his presence, for 
which he received a cuff; but to whom, 
in return, he gave a tract on swearing." 
" I have known," says one of his school- 
fellows, " boys checl^ themselves, w'hen 
about to use bad words, if he were near ; 
and we used to remark, that when he 
played at football, there was a great 
absence of swearing." " He did indeed," 
observes a third, <* adorn his Christian 
profession by the sweetness of his dispo- 
sition, his gentlemanly manners, and 
conciliatory and affectionate bearing; 
always cheerful; always ready to enter 
into the recreations and pastimes of boy- 
hood ; but at the same time always bear- 
ing in mind the obligations and respon- 
sibilities of his Christian profession." 

If at any time he saw a boy suffering 
under any species of distress, he would 
console him, and offer to read the Scrip- 
tures to him. So wisely did he cherish 
his influence with his companions, that 
lads much his superiors in scholarship 
and ability would come to him as their 
counsellor and friend. A clergyman was 
surprised to see two or three boys regu- 
larly attend church, at an hour when they 
were not required by the regulations of 
Rugby School to do so. He was in par- 
ticular struck by the seriousness of the 
deportment of one of them. The youth, 
need we say, was Spenser Thornton ! He 
induced, at one time, as many as thirty 
boys thus to be present at the hearing of 
God's word. Kay, young as he was (he 
was now but eighteen), he struck out a 
higher path of usefulness, and became a 
tract distributor and a visitor of the sick. 
Let it not be supposed, however, that this 
was done in a rash, offensive manner. 

unsuitable to his age. He was noted, 
amidst all his efforts to do good, and all 
his boldness in confessing Christ, for the 
unobtrusiveness of his piety. He stamped 
a new character on Rugby School. It 
assumed, we are told, a different aspect 
from what it ever did, before or since. 
And all this was done by the consistency 
of a youth of eighteen ! Oh, well m^ it 
cause us to blush for our own unprofita- 
bleness I 

Spenser Thornton's usefulness Was not 
to be attributed to the 6ijoyment of any 
great intellectual powers. Good plain, 
common sense seems to have been the 
highest mental nroperty he possessed. 
In his letters atld sermons there is what 
we should call, but for their deep spirltu- 
fdity, a singular want of brilliancy. It 
was not intettett, tb^n, wblch ^ye this 
dear youth his infiuenoe. In deep com- 
munion with God was to be found the 
secret of his strength* ^'One thing I 
remember," says a companion, ** his 
habit of early rising, to secure time for 
devotion ; and I recollect his saying to me 
one day how much he had felt ashamed 
at seeing some poor tradesman already 
at his day's labour in his shop, before he 
had begun his morning worship. He 
said something about our caring so much 
less for our souls than a poor tradesman 
did for perishable goods." This habit of 
consecrating the morning prime to devo- 
tion (one often found to exist in the lives 
of eminent Christians) prevailed, we may 
observe, with Spenser Thornton in all 
his after years. When travelling in 
Switzerland, for instance, having to start 
on an excursion at four in the morning, 
he rose at two o'clock, so as to secure a 
couple of hours for closet duties. When 
a country pastor, too, he observed the 
same wise application of his time. " In 
order," says his biographer, "to carry 
out his plan of giving the first part of the 
day to communion with God, his study 
fire, in winter, was laid over night. He 
usually rose at six. He considered eatly 
rising very important. Private reading 
or prayer occupied him till breakfast, at 
eight, or half-past in winter." Peculiar 
circumstances may render such a distri- 
bution of morning time inipracticable for 
many; but the principle ought to be 
adopted by all. 

We have seen the influence whicb 
Spenser Thornton exerted upon his 
school-fellows. We may now glance at 
what he accomplished with his remark- 
able preceptor. Dr. Arnold. Peculiar, as 



in some resp^cts^ and on some isolated 
points, were the opinions of this distin- 
guished individual, he felt a deep anxiety 
for the spiritual welfare of young men 
who attended Rughy School, and was 
ever solicitous to ^encourage the mani- 
festations of early piety. Spenser Thorn- 
ton speedily attracted his notice, from 
having visited a poor person, who was 
dangerously ill. " Yesterdav," writes 
the subject of our notice, " Dr. Arnold 
said to me, just after school, * Thornton, 
have you seen the woman at the turnpike 
to-day?' 'Yes, sir;' 'And I should like 
to know, if you havd no objection to 
tell me, who was with you T ' The two 
Pyms, sir.* *Ohl then they were too 
young. I only wished to know if the 
boys went with you from the same motive 
as younelf.' He continued to sav he had 
heard of me many times in that way, 
and that he hoped I should persevere; 
that he wished there were many more of 
that spirit in the school." This was 
not a mere passing admiration on the 
part of Spenser Thornton's high-minded 
mstructor. In speaking of his pupil 
afterwards, he stated, *'To that man I 
would stand hat in hand." ''It was," 
says Thornton's biographer, "the most 
personal praise which he ever bestowed 
on any pupil." He is supposed also to 
have alluded to Thornton in the follow- 
ing passage in one of his sermons : — 
' iNor do I know of any sight more beau- 
tifnl, nor one which ought to be more 
kindling to us who are older, than to see 
a young man, and still more, to see a 
young boy, striving fearlessly in his 
Master's service, and shaming, by his 
courageous zeal, our more measured 
efforts." If praise is to be estimated by 
the worth of the party bestowing it, then 
this was indeed high praise. 

On leaving school, previous to his 
entering upon his studies at the uni- 
versity, Spenser Thornton was followed 
by the regrets and kind wishes of his 
teachers and fellow-pupils. A further 
proof was given of the estimation in 
which he was held, by the letters ad- 
dressed to him from the parents of some 
of the boys to whom he had showed kind 
and Christian attentions. Men venerable 
for piety were fo^nd thanking him for 
the blessings which he had diiTused by 
his consistency of conduct. So true is 
God's promise, " Them that honour me, 
I will honour." 

Spenser Thornton's career at college 
must be dismissed in a few words. He 

was there still the same burning light, 
shining more and more unto the perfect 
day. He gained respectable academic 
honours, and acquired the friendship of 
an influential circle. His landlady, who 
became a very pious woman, attributed 
her conversion to his reading the Scrip- 
tures morning and evening with her. By 
means of his methodical and energetic 
habits, he was enabled not only to attend 
to his college duties, but to discharge 
efficiently the office of secretary to an 
important local missionary association, 
and to act as superintendent of a Sunday- 
school. He seems to have been a model 
teacher. By his frequent domiciliary 
visits, he gained the hearts of his children, 
and in after years took, on one occasion, 
a long journey, for the purpose of having 
an interview with some of^ his old scho- 
lars. He visited the sick and poor, dis- 
tributed tracts, stirred up others to do the 
same, and, in short, abounded in every 
ffood word and work. All this, too, was 
done in a modest, loving, humble spirit, 
which proved that it was no transient 
flash of natural zeal, but the fruit of 
deep-seated love to the Savioiu*. 

Among his fellow-students his influ- 
ence was most happily exerted. Many 
are the souls, we are told, which owe 
their spiritual life to his labours. "Where 
are you going this evening?" he once 
said to a friend whom he met. " To a 
wine party," was the reply. " You had 
better come to our missionary meeting.' 
The young man went, received his first 
religious convictions, and became a mini- 
ster of the gospel. " It has been said,' 
remarks his biographer, " that from 
twenty-five to thirty under-graduates 
obtained their first religious impressions 
through their intercourse with Spenser 
Thornton; and doubtless many, whose 
testimony Is not known on earth, will in 
the great day rise up and call him 

Such was the youth of Spenser Thorn- 
ton. He afterwards became a devoted 
and successful minister of the gospel. 
With that part of his career, however, 
this paper has no proper connection ; and 
we must refer those who desire to see the 
picture of one of the most earnest pastors 
whom the age has produced, to Mr. 
Fremantle's most profitable " Biography 
of Spenser Thornton.'* He was, em- 
phatically, "a burning and a shining 
light;" and being dead, he yet speaketh 
— in one sense to all, but especially to 
parents and young men. 

h 2 



Fathers t mothers ! what would ye not 
give to have Buch an honoured son? 
Leai-n, then, the secret of his usefulness. 
From his earliest years he was trained up 
in the nurture of the Lord, and followed 
with the persevering prayers and tender 
counsels of an affectionate mother. What 
God did for him is he not equally ahle 
and willing to do for others? Prove, 
then, the faithfulness of his promises; 
and hy earnest supplication, holy watch- 
fulness, and judicious kindness, strive to 
train up sons after such a model. 

To young men, however, in particular, 
docs that portion of Spenser Thornton's 
life which we have now been consider- 
ing, appeal. He was a happy young 
man, a useful young man, an honoured 
young man. What a contrast does his 
short career present to that of multitudes 
of the youth of our own day ! Their 
prime of life is spent in folly ; perhaps in 
open vice ; in the pursuit of sinful plea- 
sure, or in forgetfulness of God ! Oh that 
such might be persuaded, from this hour, 
to take Spenser Thornton as their pat- 
tern, and follow him even as he followed 
Christ ! His religion made him happy. 
" I cannot tell you," he wrote to a com- 
panion, " how much happier I am now, 
since God was pleased to turn my heart, 
thlm when I was living in the love of 
sin." It brought him honour. " I 
would stand to Spenser Thornton hat in 
hand," was the gifted and intellectual 
Arnold's expression. It brought him 
love. At his funeral, in Wendover, 
every shop was closed, and almost every 
eye suffused with tears. It prepared him 
for death, — death in its most sudden 
form. As men stood awe-stricken round 
his corpse, so swiftly deprived of life, 
there burst upon the ransomed spirit the 
notes of the everlasting anthem, and the 
praise of that ascended Saviour whom on 
earth Spenser Thornton had loved and 
glorified. E. V. 


A few streaks of light in the east give 
signs of approaching day. Gradually 
the brightness that first was scarcely to 
be seen, increases, shoots upward to the 
;senith, spreads over the firmament, and 
reveals the world in the beauty of the 
morning. The sun, like a bridegroom 
fresh from his chamber, rises above the 
horizon, and it is perfect day. 

So beautiful an emblem as this the 

Spirit of God employs to represent tbd 
path of the just. It is as tne shining 
tight, that shmeth more and more. It is 
an old saying, that he who aims at the 
sun will shoot higher than he who aims 
at an object on a level with himself. And 
it is equally true, that no man will shoot 
higher than he aims. Attempt great 
things, and you may achieve great things. 
It is so in the natural as well as the 
moral world. Knowledge, wealth, power 
are not to be had without an effort; and 
though he who seeks it may not get all 
he seeks, he will fail of getting more 
than he aims aft^r. But far more than 
wealth or power is to be sought by the 
believer. To overcome the power of sin 
in the soul, to grow in grace, to gain the 
measure of the stature of the fulness of 
Christ, the stature of a perfect man, is 
the result to be reached. But the path 
of the just leads there. It is a path of 
light, and it shines " more and more unto 
the perfect day." 

Fix the eye of the soul on the point in 
knowledge and holiness and happiness, 
where Paul or John * or Gabriel now 
reigns and shines, and that point is below 
the mark set before the believer. The 
holiness of God is at once the reason and 
the standard of Christian aspiration ; for 
we know that when Christ shall appear, 
we shall be like him. 

Nor is there any danger that the true 
believer shall fail of that likeness. The 
path of the just never leads to darkness 
and death. It is not a light that is easily 
extinguished ; nor is it a will- o'-the> wisp 
that leads to the mire of despair. The 
first ray of light began to shine in the 
soul when the act of regeneration was 
done by the Holy Spirit. From that 
hour, the work of sanctifi cation has gone 
onward, and will advance till perfect day 
is ushered in with the brightness of a 
better world. The sun never tires and 
falters in his rising. Clouds may for a 
season obscure his brightness, and igno- 
rance might suppose that he had fallen 
from his orbit. But behind the thickest 
clouds he is rising serenely, and soon 
will appear in his strength. 

So with the path of the just. Clouds 
dark and stormy may at times hang over 
that j)ath, and ignorance or unbelief may 
lose sight of the Christian in the froilttes 
of the man. But we know that grace 
still shines in his heart, and will by-and- 
by break through every obstruction, and 
show the world there is a living princi]^e, 
harder to be extinguished than the sun 



itself. Grace once planted in the heart 
)jill live. — Presbyterian, 


The pile of letters \vhich each day's 
post brought to the widowed queen was 
of no common bulk. Letters from all 
parts of England, on all charitable pro- 
jects, from clergy, from laity, from 
widows, from orphans, from parties in 
every grade of society, assailed her bene- 
volent sympathies. Every county and 
almost every town in England furnished 
her with a correspondent. Not one sus- 
tained a harsh or contemptuous rejection. 
The queen read all her letters. Patiently, 
perseveringly, and systematically would 
she sit down, morning after morning, 
and, despite of bad writing, wretched 
grammar, interminable periods, and end- 
less repetitions, master their meaning. 
Her own impression was recorded, in her 
own hand, on the back of each applica- 
tion ; this done, the letter passed into the 
hands of lieutenant Bedford, her secretary 
for charities, for the purpose of further 
investigation : or if this were deemed 
needless, to be replied to in the affirm- 
ative forthwith. 

Some of her annotations ran thus : 
" This appears incredible.'' " Plau- 
sible ; but has too much the air of an 
imposture." ** An extraordinary, and it 
is to be feared exaggerated statement." 
"This case deserves immediate investi- 
gation." "To be relieved at once." 
" Needs no confirmation." And then 
followed the sum of 51., 101., or 20^., 
which, in the queen's judgment, would 
meet the necessities of the case, and 
which was at once forwarded to the peti- 
tioner. Her discrimination was rarely at 
fault; so rarely, that when equivocal 
cases were inquired into by members of 
lier household, by the queen's command, 
the results of such inquiry bore out, with 
scarcely an exception, the view which 
their royal mistress had originally taken. 
Her tact in sifting truth from falsehood, 
and a case of real suffering from amidst a 
mass of plausible representations, was 
remarkable. One of these applications, 
with the queen's autograph comment on 
the back, I have seen. A curious docu- 
ment it is. The writer, from his own 
admissions, had previously participated 
in the queen's bounty. Now he addresses 
her in dying circumstances. He. alleges 
that his physician had recommended to 

him "jellies, and other expensive articles 
of nutriment," which his own means 
would not admit of his procuring; and 
very adroitly suggests to the queen the 
propriety of her supplying this pecuniary 
deficiency. But he writes in articulo 
mortis — ^he is dying — absolutely dying — 
he has but a few hours to live ; but still 
his thoughts run on no other subject but 
the queen dowager, and "jellies." Tlie 
letter is long, written in large characters, 
with a profusion of flourishes. The 
queen's autograph comment, endorsed on* 
the fourth side, runs thus : " An odd 
epistle ! written in a good, strong, steady 
hand for a dyin? man." — The Earthly 
Besting Places of the Just, 



Whilst journeying by rail on one 
occasion, in the summer of 1849, there 
happened to be in the same carriage with 
the writer a middle-aged female, of re- 
spectable appearance, to whom the atten- 
tion of the passengers was especially 
attracted, in consequence of having in 
her possession a geranium of unusual 
magnificence. The singular care, amount- 
ing almost to affection, with which she 
nursed it, and the looks of tender anxiety 
with which it was ever and anon re- 
garded, impressed her companions 'in 
travel with the conviction, either that she 
was a most enthusiastic floral devotee, or 
that some circumstances of uncommon 
interest were associated with the plant in 
question. In reply to repeated remarks 
upon the value evidently attached to 
tne luxuriant treasure she so vigilantly 
guarded, it transpired that she cherished 
it as a remembrancer of her long-absent 
husband, who had gone out, four years 
previously, with the expedition com- 
manded by sir John Franklin. Almost 
despairing of ever hearing of him again, 
she had forsaken her now desolate home, 
and was going to reside with her sister. 
The geranium, that was entrusted to her 
fostering care and culture by her husband 
on his departure, had been reared to its 

{>resent enormous dimensions, and a 
adder had been constructed for the sup- 
port of its strong and still spreading 
branches. She seemed to expend upon 
it the full force of her womanly love. It 
was to her the only living symbol and 



memento of him whom she mourned as 
for ever lost to her. Still, as it daily/ 
flourished and shed its fragrance at her 
side, it served to keep her "memory 
green ;" and as it brightly flowered from 
season to season, it seemed to revive and 
renew her perishing hopee. The tones 
of suppressed emotion, and the air of 
sadness, tinged with a gleam of wifely 
pride, with which these painful allusions 
were made, touched every heart present 
A genial tide of sympathy and con- 
dolence flowed in upon her from every 
side; whilst the beautiful plant she so 
tightly grasped — symbolizing what it did 
— became at once an object of intense 
interest to every one. The spontaneity 
of kind feeling with which she was 
greeted after these reluctant disclosures 
must have been highly gratifying to the 
lone wife in her terrible suspense. 

This little incident is recorded here as 
affording an affecting illustration of the 
deep concern, pervading the entire com- 
munity, felt on behalf of those brave men 
who some years since undertook the 
perilous task of exploring the Arctic Seas. 
As a straw cast upon the bosom of the 
stream will show the way in which the 
current sets, or as a feather thrown into 
the air will indicate the direction of the 
wind, so a circumstance like that just 
narrated suffices to afford a glimpse of 
the prevalent mood of the national mind. 
We have not, however, been left to 
gather the public sentiment on this topic 
from such casual and incidental sources. 
It has recently assumed a more practical 
and beneficent shape. The past year is 
memorable for the numerous and earnest 
efforts that were made to dissipate the 
melancholy uncertainty and mystery that 
still enshroud the fate of sir. J. Franklin 
and his brave comrades. Attention to 
geo^aphical and scientific research in 
the inhospitable regions of the North has 
been well nigh superseded by the impera- 
tive demands thus made upon the hu- 
manity and generosity of the British 
public. Impatient and distressed at the 
long and unexplained absence of their 
relatives and friends, thousands were 
heard, during the winter of 1849-50, 
urging the necessity for relief to be sent 
to them, supposing them to be impri- 
soned in some wild, unvisited region of 
the northern pole. The subject, assum- 
ing an aspect of great seriousness, at- 
tracted the grave attention of many 
public journals, and was discussed in in- 
numerable private circles and coteries of 

friends. As the result of this salutary 
agitation, hundreds of hardy and experi- 
enced men, many of them at consider- 
able personal and relative sacrifice, prof- 
fered their services, eager to join the 
gallant ilite chosen to search those deso- 
late and ice-clad seas, in the expeditions 
which were being fitted out by govern- 
ment for that purpose. Such was the 
state of general feeling in the beginning 
of 1850, at which period sir J. Franklin 
had been unheard of for nearly five years. 

As a retrospective glance at some of 
the measures that had already been 
adopted to obtain information respecting 
these heroic adventures will tend to im- 
part coherence to the subsequent nar- 
rative, a few particulars will helre be 

It will probably be in the memory of 
the reader, that in the beginning of thft 
year 1845, the English government, at 
the suggestion of sir John Barrow, of 
arctic renown, determined to make an- 
other attempt at discovering an entry 
from the eastern side of America into the 
Polar Sea, proceeding thence through the 
Straits which divide Asia from the New 
World, into the Pacific Ocean. This 
expedition was entrusted to the command 
of captain sir John Franklin, whose com- 
petency to the undertaking had been 
fully established by the two land jour- 
neys to the Arctic Seas which he ^had 
conducted. The vessels chosen for this 
hazardous enterprise were the Erehus 
and Terror J both of which had been pre- 
viously well tested in similar services. 
The expedition sailed from England on 
the 19th of May, 1845. According to 
thJ ofiicial instructions, sir J. Frai^n 
was to proceed to Baffin Bay, and, as 
soon as the ice permitted, to enter Lan- 
caster Sound, and proceed westward 
through Barrow Strait, in the latitude of 
about 74^°, until he reached the longitude 
of Cape Walker, or about 98*^ west. He 
was then to use every effort to peneti>ate 
southward and westward towards Behring 
Strait ; in which part the greatest diffi- 
culties were apprehended to lay. Should 
these obstacles prove insurmountable, he 
was next directed to return to Barrow 
Strait, and proceed northwards by Wel- 
lington Channel, provided it appeared 
open and clear of ^. In pursuance of 
these instructions, both vessels seem to 
have reached a position approaching the 
middle of Baffin Bay, about 210 mileg 
from the entrance of Lancaster Sound. 
Here they were seen, moored t9 an ice- 



berg, on the 26th of July, being sixty- 
eight days after their departure from 
England ; but no authentic tidings have 
been heard of them since. 

As the gallant leader of the expedi- 
tion, prior to his departure, had intimated 
that possihly three years might elapse 
ere their return, or befoie they could 
transmit any intelligence ; hut little 
anxiety or alarm was felt until the begin- 
ning of 1848. Even lady Franklin her- 
self, previous to that period, had been 
free from any mental uneasiness as to 
the fate of her husband. It was then 
thought, however, that sufficient time 
bad been suffered to elapse, and that 
some energetic steps should at once be 
taken to discover, succour, and if possible 
save, the missing navigators. Accord- 
ingly, researches in three different quar- 
ters, and by three separate expeditions, 
were undertaken by the government. In 
the same year, likewise, lady Franklin, 
in the true spirit of conjugal devotedness, 
offered the munificent reward of 2,000/. 
. — afterwards augmented to 3,000/. — to 
any whaling vessel that might discover 
and afford effectual relief to the lost 
adventurers. In the spring of 1848, the 
authorities dispatched two ships, built 
expressly for the purpose, the Enterprise 
and Investigator, under the direction of 
the indefatigable sir James C. Ross, to 
the spot that was beginning to attract 
towards itself the eyes of Europe and 
America. Another search was also 
simultaneously instituted on the Behring 
Strait side by captains Kellett and Moore, 
in the Herald and Plover; whilst sir 
John Richardson and Mr. Rae, under 
the auspices of the Hudson's Bay Com- 
pany, undertook to examine the north 
coast of America, from the Mackenzie 
to the Coppermine. No information 
was gleaned, however, in these several 
explorations. The suspense consequently 

Passing by the unsuccessful under- 
takings of 1849, the extraordinary efforts 
in this mission of humanity that have 
thrown such unusual lustre around the 
departed year are well entitled to our 
grateful and admiring study. No fewer 
than eleven vessels, equipped for the 
prosecution of this philanthropic enter- 
prise, met and exchanged their saluta- 
tions in the icy realms of Arctic desola- 
tion during the past season. Many of 
the men who accompanied these ships 
bad volunteered their valuable services. 
All of tbem were choice spirits, inured 

to hardships, brave even to heroism, 
whilst not a few added to their other 
excellent qualities that of sterling piety. 
Their exacting labours were entered upon 
con amore. In resolving thus to jeo- 
pardize their lives, for the doubtful deli- 
verance of their brethren, they had been 
swayed by the most generous impulses. 
It is deeply interesting to read the narra- 
tive of their magnanimous exploits — to 
contemplate their fearlessness when 
fronted by the most appalling dangers — 
and to witness, on ail occasions, their 
superiorly to the presages of terror and 
the exhaustions of fatigue. Their enthu- 
siasm expended itself, not in dreamy 
sentiment and speculation, but in honest, 
sturdy labour. Before it, the quixotic 
knight-errantry of chivalry fades into 
in^orious contempt. 

The little fleet of vessels thus engaged, 
during last summer, in the simultaneous 
discharge of one important commission, 
belonged to different expeditions, and 
were sent forth under various auspices. 
First, in magnitude and importance, may 
be mentioned two men-of-war belonging 
to the British navy, accompanied by two 
powerful screw steamers, carrying 300 
tons of coal, under the general command 
of captain Austin. These splendid ves- 
sels were sent out by the Admiralty, and 
were furnished with ample resources to 
sustain their crews ^hrough three winters 
in the Arctic Seas. They left England 
on the 4th of May. At the present time 
they are, in all probability, frozen in and 
housed in a region where the Polar night 
reigns over nearly the entire twenty-four 

The remaining vessels were indebted 
for their equipment and support partly to 
government and partly to private muni- 
ficence and public spirit. Among those 
that had gone northwards in the previous 
year, and sojourned there during the 
dreary winter, was the North Star, — a 
name of happy omen. This vessel de- 
parted from our shores in May, 1849, 
stored with provisions for the fugitive 
party. Owing to the obstructed state of 
the northern seas, however, she only 
reached Wolstenholm Sound in the pre- 
vious season, where she was compelled 
to remain until the 1st of August in the 
following year. On the 23rd she effected 
the landing of her provisions in Navy 
Board Inlet. Her people had suffered 
much from the intense cold of the pro- 
tracted winter, and had lost five hands 
by death. After spending the brief 



remnant of the summer of 1850 in various 
explorations, she returned to England on 
the 28th of September. 

Next we may mention the Felix — a 
small hut tightly-huilt schooner — under 
the ahle captaincy of the venerahle sir 
John Ross, who, at an age when most 
men would feel themselves justified in 
retiring upon their fame and fortune, was 
found willing to encounter afresh the 
hardships and perils of a mode of life 
demancUng extraordinary rohustness and 
energy of constitution, in hopes of being 
able to render some vital assistance to 
his illustrious nautical contemporary. A 
year's provision had been furnished to 
this ship and its attendant yacht by the 

About the same time as that which 
witnessed the departure of the Felix^ two 
clipper brigs, called the Lady Franklin 
and Sophia, also sailed on the same 
errand. These were placed under the 
control of captain Penny, an experienced 
and daring whaler — the very beau ideal 
of a seaman — a man of pushing, ardent, 
and enthusiastic temperament, ready at 
all times for any emergency, and nearly 
unrivalled in the practical knowledge he 
possessed of those inhospitable regions, 
which from long familiarity had become 
to him almost a second home. 

The vessel, however, to which most 
interest will probably attach, from the 
fact of its having been furnished and sent 
out by lady Franklin herself, was the 
Prince Albert, Having purchased a 
schooner, of admirable construction, it 
was entrusted to Mr. Hogarth, of Aber- 
deen, to receive the fortifying and fittings 
requisite to adapt it for the trying service 
in which it was destined to be engaged. 
Many of the equipments and articles of 
ship furniture were generously presented 
by friends who felt deep concern in the 
oDJect and issue of the enterprise. Two 
splendid boats (the one of gutta percha, 
given by the Messrs. Searle, of Lambeth, 
and the other of noble mahogany, pre- 
sented by Messrs. White, of Cowes,) 
were attached to the Prince Albert, be- 
sides others of a smaller description, 
together with sledges and kites. The 
Board of Ordnance contributed a how- 
itzer, muskets, rockets, fireballs, and 
similar materiel. Ample provisions were 
placed on board for a period of two years. 
The Admiralty supplied the ship with 
half a ton of pemmican (or preserved 
meat, in a concentrated form), and the 
hydrographer with nautical and scientifie 

instruments. The Christian Knowledge 
Society sent on board a collection of 
books, including Bibles ; and John Bar- 
row, esq., of the Admiralty furnished, 
besides a handsome subscription to the 
fund, a miniature library of most useful 
and entertaining works. The subscrip- 
tions towards this expedition amounted 
to about 1,500Z. The entire expenses 
incurred reached an aggregate of nearly 
4,000/., leaving about 2,500/. to be de- 
frayed by lady Franklin. To meet this 
heavy expenditure, it is understood that 
her ladysliip, rising superior to all mer- 
cenary considerations, sold out of the 
funds all the stock she could legally 
touch. The command of this auxiliary 
expedition was entrusted to captain 
Forsyth, a distinguished naval officer, 
who generously offered his gratuitous 
services. He was accompanied by an- 
other gentleman, Mr. W. P. Snow, a 
thorough enthusiast in the cause, and 
who had quitted America, at three days' 
notice, expressly to join any expedition 

foing out under lady Franklin's imme- 
iatc auspices. His valuable and most 
devoted services were purely voluntary. 
Although not professionilly a nautical 
man, he seems to have spent most of his 
eventful life in extensive and diversified 
travel, having especially been long accus- 
tomed to the sea, and " served a long 
apprenticeship upon its treacherous bo- 
The capacity in which he under- 


took to officiate showed the versatility of 
the man. He was to take charge of all 
the civil department of the vessel, the 
superintendency of the stores, the care of 
the scientific instruments, and to lead 
one of the two great exploring parties 
into which the ship's company was to 
be divided when the travelling season 
arrived. Owing to the refusal of the 
medical attendant to venture the voyage, 
on beholding the diminutive size of the 
vessel, Mr. Snow also superadded to the 
above duties the functions of a disciple 
of i^sculapius. Since the return of the 
Albert, this gentleman has published a 
graphic volume, embodying a personal 
narrative of his own labours ana experi- 
ences, and comprising likewise many in- 
cidental notices of his coadjutors in the 
same engrossing mission. To this work, 
which may be recommended to our 
readers, we are indebted for some inter- 
esting facts. The primary object con- 
templated by the promoters of the sup- 
plementary expedition was to effect a 
thorough search of the coasts of Prince 



Regent Inlet, the Gulf of Boothia, and 
the adjacent straits; and, further, to 
explore the land of Boothia and its vici- 
nity. These regions, around which the 
hopes of many arctic voyagers have 
gathered, unless thus searched, must 
hare been necessarily neglected for a 
whole year, since captains Austin and 
Penny were required by their respective 
instructions to take a more northern and 
a more western direction. 

Another remarkable instance of libe- 
rality and practical sympathy yet remains 
to be related. In addition to the dis- 
covery-ships already enumerated as hav- 
ing proceeded from England, two vessels 
were also despatched from the United 
States on the same humane errand. They 
were known as the Advance and the 
Rescue, They had been purchased, 
strengthened, and fitted up in the most 
efficient manner, expressly for this pur- 
pose, at the sole expense of one benevo- 
lent individual, Henry Grinnell, esq., an 
opulent merchant of New York. This 
gentleman, having long felt his heart 
yearn towards the lost ones and their 
despairing friends, and desiring to redeem 
the partiid pledge given by the American 
government to lady Franklin, yielded at 
length to the strong impulses awakened 
by some of her private letters, with a 
sight of which he had been favoured, and 
determined to allot no small portion of 
bis ample fortune in sending out an aux- 
iliary expedition to assist England in the 
sorrowful search she was making for her 
gallant children. Having equipped his 
ships, he applied to Congress, and with- 
out difficulty secured their adoption by 
the naval authorities. Officers and crews 
were appointed by the Board of Admi- 
nistration for Maritime Affairs ; and the 
government agreed to pay them as if 
engaged in regular service, only at a 
higher rate of remuneration. These pre- 
liminary arrangements having been made, 
on the 24th of May, 1850, Mr. Grinnell 
had the high satisfaction of seeing his two 
ships and their sanguine crews depart 
from New York on their generous mis- 
sion. Of the competency of both officers 
and crews, Mr. Snow speaks in terms of 
eulogy and envy. They were eminently 
distinguished by energy, promptitude, 
decision, enterprise, and all other sailor- 
like qualities. The ^* go-ahead ** charac- 
ter of the sons of the stars and stripes 
was nowhere more visible than when 
encompassed by the impediments and 
difficulties of a polar sea. The dashing 

intrepidity with which the Americans 
encountered and conquered dangers was 
somewhat startling to the more steady- 
going but brave British mariner. 

The extraordinary extent to which 
vessels destined for the arctic regions 
have to be fortified, in order that they 
may stand some chance of being able to 
resist the tremendous pressure and con- 
tusions of the ice, may be seen from the 
following description of the brigantine 
Advance :— " Her boW was one solid 
mass of timber, from the foremast. Her 
timbers were increased in size and num- 
ber, so that she might well be said to 
have been doubled inside as well as out. 
Her deck was also doubled, then felted, 
and again lined inside, while her cabin 
had, in addition, a sheathing of cork. 
The after-part of the vessel was remark- 
ably strong ; and a movable bulk-head, 
which ran across the fore-part of the 
cabin, could at any time be unshipped to - 
afford a free communication fore and aft 
when needed.*' 

Here we must pause. All that has 
been attempted in this paper is, a hasty 
and necessarily imperfect sketch of the 
simultaneous efforts put forth, during the 
year 1850, by the representatives of the 
entire Anglo-Saxon race, for effecting 
either the rescue and restoration of their 
fugitive brethren, or for obtaining some 
satisfactory elucidation of the mystery 
that overhangs their fate — if, indeed, 
swayed by our fears, we must number 
them among the martyrs of science and 
the victims of an honourable enterprise. 
In another article we shall pursue the 
subject ; gathering together those meagre 
shreds of information, and retracing those 
faint vestiges of their movements, that 
have as yet«come to the knowledge of 
our anxious country. Meanwhile, we 
must request the reader, during the un- 
avoidable suspense of a month, to exer- 
cise a slight measure of that patience 
which was so largely required by those 
who, both by night and by day, for 
several months during the late summer, 
were prosecuting their exciting search, 
alternately cheered by the most inspirit- 
ing hopes and paralyzed by the most 
dismaying fears. Q. 


Some persons seem to be always trem- 
bling at the thought and the mightiness 
of becoming a Christian, concentrating 
in their own minds, in the idea of becom- 



iog a Christiani almost the whole amount 
of a life-time of self-deniali conflict, effort, 
watchfulness, work upon self and others. 
But that is all to be left to Christ and his 
grace. All the strength necessary for 
future obedience must be given by him, 
and when the time comes for its exercise, 
he will give it to the soul that is waiting 
on him. But at present you have only 
present duty to perform. You are to 
follow Christ for to-day; that is duty, 
that is Christianity. Christ must renew 
your strength every day, and every day 
you must come to him, saying. Give us 
this day our daily bread. If you think 
that becoming a Christian requires in you 
the exercise of a grace and strength suffi- 
cient to last you through life, it is a great 
mistake indeed. Becoming a Christian 
requires only present submission and 
trust, a willing neart, and a waiting on 
the Saviour now, without any respect to 
«the future, except in the article of trust- 
ing in him for it. Out of that present 
trust springs the future. You are not 
required to produce the future, but to put 
the seed of it into the ground, as Christ 
gives it to you. The husbandman is not 
required to produce the harvest, but to 
begin with the first steps and to follow 
on, trusting in the Lord of the harvest. 
Your trust and obedience to-day are the 
seed and bud of to-morrow, and out of 
the blossoms of to-morrow shall spring 
other buds and blossoms, and so on, untS 
your daily existence shall be filled with 
fruit unto life eternal. The man who 
trusts in the Lord shall be like a tree 
planted by a river — her roots always nou- 
rished with moisture, her leaf ever green, 
not barren in^ the year of drought, nor 
ever ceasing at all from yielding nruit. 

But all this is the quiet grpwth of faith 
and patience. It is not required at once, 
nor possible at once, but only the princi- 
ple of it ceaselessly working. Miss Jane 
Taylor's story of the discontented pen- 
dulum is admirable in this application ; 
we would call it for our purpose the un- 
believing pendulum. Reflecting upon 
the amount of future duty it had to per- 
form, and going into calculation what 
number of times it must swing every 
hour, and multiplying that by the hours 
in the day, and then the days in the 
month, and then the months in the year, 
and finding what an enormous multitude 
of times it must strike with the most 
perfect precision, punctuality, and perse- 
verance in the year, — ceaseless, always 
at its duty,— it was so distressed and ter- 

rified with the responsibility, that it sud- 
denly stopped; nor could the clock be 
set in motion again till the pendulum was 
reminded that, though in a year's time it 
would of course perform so many vibra- 
tions, if faithful, yet it was never called 
to perform but just so many in a minute, 
and only one in each present second, and 
that it had not'hing to do with the future, 
but to take care of the present Take 
care of the minutes, and the hours will 
take care of themselves. And just so, 
take care of the days in Christ's service, 
day by day, in the minute duties of fol- 
lowing Christ, and the months and years 
will take care of themselves. Christ will 
keep the clock in motion to-morrow, if 
the pendulum obeys him to-day. Each 
day we are to come to him for each day's 
grace. — Dr. Cheever. 


The first coster-cry heard of a morn- 
ing in the London streets is that of 
"Fresh wo- or ter- creases." Those that 
sell them have to be on their rounds in 
time for the mechanics' breakfast, or the 
day's gains are lost. As the stock-money 
for this calling need only consist of a few 
halfpence, it is followed by the very 

Soorest of the poor ; such* as young chil- 
ren, who have been deserted by their 
parents, and whose strength is not equal 
to any very great labour, or by old men 
and women, crippled by disease or acci- 
dent, who in their dread of a workhouse 
life, linger on with the few pence they 
earn by street- selling. This graphic 
sketch should excite deep Christian sym- 
pathy for the class it describes. 
^ As winter draws near, the Farringdon 
cress-market begins long before daylight. 
On your way to the city to see this 
strange sight, the streets are deserted ; in 
the squares the blinds are drawn down 
before the windows, and the shutters 
closed, so that the very houses seem 
asleep. All is so silent that you can hear 
the rattle of the milkmaids cans in the 
neighbouring streets, or the noisy song 
of three or four drunken voices breaks 
suddenly upon you, as if the singers had 
turned a comer, and then dies away in 
the distance. On the cab-stands but 
one or two crazy cabs are left, the horses 
dozing with their heads down to their 
knees, and the drawn - up windows 
covered with the breath of the driver 
sleeping inside. At the corners of the 



streets, the bright fires of the coffee-stalls 
sparkle in the darkness, and as you walk 
along, the policeman, leaning against 
some gas-lamp, turns his lantern full 
upon you, afi if in suspicion that one who 
walks abroad so early could mean no 
good to. householders. As you near the 
city, you meet, if it be a Monday or Fri- 
day morning, droves of sheep and bul- 
locks, tramping quietly along to Smith- 
field, and carrying a fog of steam with 
them, while behind, wim his hands in 
his pockets, and his dog panting at his 
heels, walks the sheep-drover. 

At the principal entrance to Farring- 
don-market there is an open space, run- 
ning the entire length of the railings in 
front, and extending from the iron gates 
at the entrance to the sheds down the 
centre of the large paved court before 
the shops. In this open space the cresses 
are sold, by the salesmen or saleswomen 
to whom they are consigned, in the 
hampers they are brought in from the 

The shops in the market are'Qhut, the 
gas-lights over the iron gates burn 
brightly, and every now and then you 
hear the half-smothered crowing of a 
cock, shut up in some shed or bird-fan- 
cier's shop. Presently a man comes hur- 
rying along, i|iith a can of hot coffee in 
each hand, and his stall on his head, and 
when he has arranged his stand by the 
gates, and placed his white mugs between 
the railings on the stone wall, he blows 
at his charcoal fire, making the bright 
sparks fly about at every puff he gives. 
By degrees the customers are creeping 
up, dressed in every style of rags ; they 
shuffle up and down before the gates, 
stamping to warm their feet, and rubbing 
their hands together till they grate like 
sand-paper. Some of the boys have 
iHTougbt large hand-baskets, and carry 
them with the handles round their necks, 
covering the head entirely with the 
wicker-work as with a hood ; others have 
their shallows fastened to their backs 
with a strap, and one little girl, with the 
bottom of her gown tattered into a fringe 
Uke a blacksmith's apron, stands shiver- 
ing in a large pair of worn-out boots, 
holding in her hlue hands a bent and 
rusty tea-tray. A few poor creatures 
have made friends with the coffee-man, 
and are allowed to warm their fingers at 
the fire under the cans, and as the heat 
strikes into them, they grow sleepy and 

The market— >by the time we reach it 

-^has just begun ; one dealer has taken 
his seat, and sits motionless with cold— 
for it wants but a month to Christmas — 
with his hands thrust deep into the pockets 
of his gray driving coat. Before him is 
an opened hamper, with a caudle fixed 
in the centre of the bright green cresses, 
and as it shines through the wicker sides 
of the basket, it casts curious patterns on 
the ground — ^as a night shade does. Two 
or three customers, with their " shallows " 
slung over their backs, and their hands 
poked into the bosoms of their gowns, 
are bending over the hamper, the light 
from which tinges their swarthy features, 
and they rattle their halfpence and speak 
coaxingly to the dealer, to hurry him in 
their bargains. 

Just as the church clocks are striking 
five, a stout saleswoman enters the gates, 
and instantly a country-looking fellow, 
in a wagoner's cap and smock-frock, 
arranges the baskets he has brought up 
to London. The others are soon at their 
posts, well wrapped up in warm cloaks, 
over tbeir thick shawls, and 8i> with their 
hands under their aprons, talking to the 
loungers, whom they call by their names. 
Now the business commences ; the cus- 
tomers come in by twos and threes, and 
walk about, lookmg at the cresses, and 
listening to the prices asked. Every 
hamper is surrounded by a black crowd, 
bending over till their heads nearly meet, 
their foreheads and cheeks lighted up by 
the candle in the centre. The sales- 
women's voices are heard above the noise 
of the mob, sharply answering all objec- 
tions that may be made to the quality of 
their goods. 

As the morning twilisht came on, the 

?aved court was crowded with purchasers, 
'he sheds and shops at the end of the 
market grew every moment more dis- 
tinct, and a railway-van, laden with car- 
rots, came rumbling into the yard. The 
pigeons, too, began to fly on to the sheds, 
or wdk about the paving-stones, and the 
gas-man came round with his ladder to 
turn out the lamps. Then every one was 
pushing about ; the children crying, as 
their naked feet were trodden upon, and 
the women hurrying off, with their bas- 
kets or shawls filled with cresses, and 
the bunch of rushes in their hands. In 
one corner of the market, busily tying 
up their bunches, were three or four girls 
seated on the stones, with their legs 
curled up under them, and the ground 
near them was green with the leaves 
they had thrown ft way, A saleswoman, 



seeing me looking at the groupi said to 
me, *' Ab I you should com^ here of a 
summer's morning, and then you'd see 
'em, sitting tying up, young and old, 
upwards of a hundred poor things, as 
thick as crows in a ploughed field." 

As it grew late, the crowd thinned, and 
none but the very poorest of the cress- 
sellers were left. Many of these bad 
come without money, others had their 
halfpence tied up careftilty in their shawl- 
ends, as though they dreaded the loss. A 
sickly-looking boy, of about five, whose 
head just reached above the hampers, 
now crept forward, treading with his 
blue naked feet over the cold stones as a 
cat does over wet ground. At his elbows 
and knees, his skin showed in gashes 
through the rents in his clothes, and he 
looked so frozen, that the saleswoman 
called to him, asking if his mother had 
gone home. The boy knew her well, for 
without answering her question, he went 
up to her, and, as he stood shivering on 
one foot, said, " Give us a few old cresses," 
and in a few' minutes was running off 
with a green bundle under bis arm. All 
die saleswomen seemed to be of kindly 
natures, for at another stall an old dame, 
whose rags seemed to be beyond credit, 
was paying for some* cresses she had long 
since been trusted with, and excdsing 
herself for the time that had passed since 
the transaction. As I felt curious on 
the point of the honesty of the poor, I 
asked the saleswoman when she was 
alone, whether they lost much by giving 
credit. "It couldn't be much," she 
answered, "if they all of them de- 
camped." But thev were generally 
honest, and paid back, often reminding 
her of credit given that she herself had 

As you walk home — although the 
apprentice is knocking at the master's 
door — the little water-cress girls are cry- 
ing their goods in every street. Some of 
them are gathered round the pumps, 
washing the leaves and piling up the 
bunches in their baskets, that are tattered 
and worn as their own clothing; in some 
of the shallows the holes at the bottom 
have been laced up or darned together 
with rope and string, or twigs and split 
laths have been fastened across ; whilst 
others are lined with oilcloth, or old pieces 
of sheet-tin. Even by the time the cress- 
market is over, it is yet so early that 
the maids are beating the mats in the 
road, and mechanics, with their tool- 
baskets swung over their shoulders, are 

still hurrying to their work. To visit 
Farringdon-market early on a Monday 
morning, is the only proper way to judge 
of the fortitude and courage and perse- 
verance of the poor. These poor cress- 
sellers belong to a class so poor that their 
extreme want alone might almost seem an 
excuse for theft, and they can be trusted 
paying the few pence they owe even 
though they hunger for it. It must 
require no little energy on the part of 
the lads to make them resist the tempta- 
tions around them, and refuse the luring 
advice of the young thieves they meet at 
the low lodging-house. And yet they 
prefer the early rising — the walk to mar- 
ket with naked feet luong the cold stones 
— the pinched meal — and the day's hard 
labour to earn the few halfpence — to the 
thiefs comparatively easy life. The 
heroism of the unknown poor is a thing 
to set even the dullest marvelling, and 
in no place in all London is the virtue of 
the humblest — ^both young and old — so 
conspicuous as among the watercress- 
buyers at Farringdon-market. — London 
Labour and the London Poor. 


The following remarks, • delivered by 
the mayor of Bradford, at a meeting of 
the r Bradford Early Closing Association, 
haveNio much practical good sense in 
them, that we willingly bring them under 
the notice of our readers. 

" I have now to request the youths 
before me to give me their special atten- 
tion for a few moments, whilst I give 
them a slight sketch of the early period 
of my own life. I received my education 
in the city of York, at one of the best 
boarding-schools there at that time, 
where I remained upwards of seven 
years. On leaving school, I was placed 
in a wholesale house of business, in the 
city of London. After being there a few 
months, the principals of the house being 
friends of my father, considered it ad- 
visable that I should be placed in a 
retail shop for the period of two years, 
where I might learn the more minute 
details and rudiments of business. I 
was, in consequence, transferred to a 
retail shop in a market town in the 
county of Essex. In this my new situa- 
tion, it devolved upon me, as the junior 
apprentice, to open the shop, take down 
the shutters, sweep the shop floor, make 
the shop fire, dust the counters and 



shelves, clean the shop windows, clean 
and trim the oil lamps in the shops, clean 
my own shoes, etc. : all this I accom- 
plished every morning hefore hreakfast. 
During the day, I had to carry out par- 
cels, some as heavy as I could lift ; and, 
in truth, to discharge all the duties which 
devolve upon juniors. An invaluahle 
discipline it is for lads intended for husi- 
ness. Yet, I must confess, that the 
duties that I have enumerated, and 
otliers, did wound my pride not a little 
for the first few days, having previously 
been trained up with and accustomed to 
every comfort, and not anticipating that 
I should have to do, at any period of life, 
what then appeared to me such menial 
duties. But having been previously 
assured by valued friends, that my then 
position would materially tend to my 
future advantage, I determined at once 
to overcome every feeling of pride, and 
resolved, in reference to the duties re- 
ferred to, that I would perform them, and 
all others, in such a manner as to secure 
the uniform approval of my master. I 
did so, and I now experience a becoming 
gratification in making this avowal to 
you. No, my friends, I need not fear to 
avow to you and to the world, the process 
by which I attained my present position. 
I repeat it, I experience a becoming gra- 
tification, that it results from a sound 
commercial training in the period of 
youth, and my own unswerving, perse- 
vering efforts in manhood, the blessing 
of God accompanying those efforts. After 
being in the shop in which I was placed 
about three months, I had become so 
valuable to my master behind the counter, 
in attending to customers, that he en- 
gaged another apprentice, and I was pro- 
moted; and at the expiration of two 
years, I returned to the house in London, 
to which I have referred. I would here 
remark, that a short time ago, an old 
tradesman, a friend of mine, in a very 
extensive retail business, informed me, 
that latterly he had found that youths 
trained up in our large towns evinced 
such proud, haughty, unbecoming no- 
tions, that he found them, as apprentices, 
quite unmanageable, and he was obliged 
to look for youths from the rural districts. 
I believe that this friend of mine is by no 
means singular in his experience. Pride, 
self-conceit, and sloth are the bane of 
many youths of the present day ; and I 
fear the mistaken fondness of well- 
intentioned, but silly mothers, is the too 
frequent cause. 

''My experience convinces me that 
true wisdom dictates, that all lads should 
be taught to bear the yoke in their youth. 
I can attest to all before me, that I regard 
it as fraught with the greatest blessings 
to me, not only that I was placed behind 
the counter for two years, but especially 
that I had to discharge the duties to 
which I have referred during the first 
three months. I have constantly referred 
to that period of my life with inexpressible 
satisfaction, feeling convinced that it was 
then that I acquired that becoming self- 
knowledge and those habits of business, 
to which I ascribe all my after success in 
business and the position I now occupy, 
not only as an English merchant, but as 
mayor of this important borough. I 
adopted as a rule in early life, that I 
would master and overcome lill difli- 
culties in the acquirement of business 
knowledge in all its departments, that 
everything I had to do should be done in 
as perfect and in as complete a manner 
as possible, and that no man should excel 
me — to this I have adhered through life, 
and I am willing still to be a learner. 

^' Allow me now to refer to the value 
and importance of time. How much 
valuable time is irrecoverably lost through 
carelessness and idleness! Apprentices 
should remember that the period of their 
apprenticeship is specially designed for 
their acquiring a complete knowledge of 
their business; and if, instead of being 
actively and perseveringly engaged, in 
availing themselves of every opportunity 
of learning their business, they are care- 
less and indifferent, they not only forfeit 
advantages they never can recall, but 
they act unfaithfully to their master. 
Both apprentices and assistants should 
always remember that the hours for busi- 
ness belong to their mastei:, and he is 
justly entitled to their unremitting ser- 
vices; it is for them to be vigilant in 
the discharge of every duty devolving 
upon them. Time is the property of 
your master, the same as any other por- 
tion of his property ; and if you do not 
fully improve it, but waste it through 
negligence or indolence, you rob your 
master of that to which he is justly en- 
titled. In order properly to redeem time, 
you must adopt the habit of early rising : 
it is a baneful practice remaining in bed 
to an unreasonable hour in the morning, 
and when indulged in necessarily com- 
pels the hurried and slovenly perform- 
ance of duties requiring attention early 
in the morning, and probable disorder 



and confusion throughout the day. The 
man of husiness who rises early, secures 
many important advantages over the 
drowsy and slothful. If a young man adopt 
the practice of retiring to hed at ten or 
half-past ten o'clock and rise at five in 
the morning in summer, and six o'clock 
in winter, he will secure incalculahle ad- 
vantages, which no amount of gold can 
purchase. On this point I can speak 
experimentally. Early rising has oeen 
so completely a hahit with me through 
life, that I cannot comfortably remain in 
hed beyond a certain hour. During the 
period of my apprenticeship, I was accus- 
tomed during summer to ramble through 
the fields from four to Six o'clock in the 
monung. And as an auxiliary to health, 
I would recommend a mattress to sleep 
on, in preference to a feather bed ; and 
further, I would most earnestly urge upon 
all youths and young men the inexpres* 
sibfe comfort and advantage they would 
derive from copious ablutions of cold 
water over the entire body every morn- 
ing. All youths and young men engaged 
in business or counting-houses would, by 
its adoption, derive benefit to their health, 
of which they can form no adequate con- 
ception until experienced. At first they 
may shrink from it; but let them per- 
severe daily, and it will become so pea- 
sant and delightful, that its omission for 
one day will prove a source of discomfort. 
Next to the value of time, and the great 
importance of the habit of early rising, I 
would direct your attention to the duty 
ef punctuality ; and to our youths and 
young men, early rising, in many cases, 
is indispensable to the fulfilment of the 
latter. To apprentices and assistants in 
shops, clerks in counting-houses, young 
men in warehouses, whose duties impose 
regular hours for their commencement in 
the morning, how important is punctu- 
ality, and yet how sadly neglected I An 
apprentice who has the shop to open, 
ought to be so punctual to his time, that 
the neighbours seeing him take down the 
shutters, may know the hour of the 
morning without looking to their clocks. 
How contemptible and unjust to discover 
assistants in shops, warehouses, or count- 
ing-houses, who lodge away from the 
premises, instead of making it a matter 
of conscience to be punctual in their 
attendance at business in the morning, 
and at meals, coming late and creeping 
in slyly at back doors, hiding their hats, 
and other similar deceptive tricks to 
delude their masters. All servants, by 

such a course, necessarily forfeit the con- 
fidence of their employers, thereby seri- 
ously injure their characters, and hazard 
their prospects in life. To apprentice 
lads I would again direct attention to m^ 
own experience as an apprentice. What- 
ever you have to do, do it promptly, do 
it well, do it cheerfully, so as invariably 
to feel assured your master will approve 
your conduct. I have observed appren- 
tices sweeping out of the shop doors into 
the street, quantities of paper and twine, 
which, if picked up before the sweeping 
commenced, would have proved useful. 
I refer to this as a caution of universal 
application, that it is the duty of all ser- 
vants to be scrupulously careful of their 
master's property, even in matters appa- 
rently trivial. Never slip over any part 
of your duty carelessly, but cultivate a 
habit of care and exactness about every 
thing you have to do, so as always to 
secure the approval of your master, rather 
than by your carelessness or neglect, 
oblige him to censure or reprove you. I 
have referred to various matters thus 
minutely, because you may rest assured^ 
that as ^ou attend to these points now, 
they will become habits as you grow 
older. They will remain with you through 
life ; and just as you discharge your pre- 
sent duties properly will you be the 
better fitted, when you become masters, 
to look after your own business. What a 
pleasing reflection for a lad, at the close 
of his apprenticeship, to feel that in all 
his various duties he has been so faithful 
and attentive, that in no one instance has 
he so acted as to admit of his master cen- 
suring or complaining of the manner in 
which he had conducted himself ! " 


In Saumur, in a modest shop upon the 
quay, I witnessed an exhibition showing 
a degree of industry, ingenuity, and per- 
fectly novel artistic skill, which surprised 
and delighted me. In a glass-case by 
the door stood what I took, at first sight, 
to be a huge grotesque doll, made up in 
ludicrous imitation of the lack-a-daisical 
looking shepherds who sometimes flourish 
in the pictures of Watteau and his pas- 
toral-loving contemporaries. Looking 
more closely, I discovered that my shep- 
herd was a glass one — that the half-furry, 
half-velvety materials in which he was 
dressed were composed of innumerable 
filaments of spun glass of all imaginable 



colours. I was examining the figure, 
when the shopkeeper politely invited me 
to enter. He was engaged, by the help 
of a jet of gas, a small lump of glass, the 
blow-pipe, in manufacturing a variety 
of tiny dogs, cats, and birds of paradise, 
with lustrous tails, the like of which 
abound in our own toy-shops, but which 
were here endowed with an artistic ap- 
pearance of life, and finished off with a 
perfection of detail which appeared to 
me quite unrivalled. Still, not being 
over and above interested in the produc- 
tion of these pretty nicknackeries, I was 
turning to go, when I observed a large 
glass-case at the bottom of the shop, con- 
taining what I took to be very fine stuffed 
specimens of a lion, a striped tiger, and a 
leopard. " Ah ! " said the artist, " these 
are my triumph.. I make my living out 
of trumpery dogs and cats, and children's 
sets of plates ; but these are the works to 
which I have devoted all the time, and in 
which I have settled all the pride of my 

I was astounded. What I had taken 
for the natural hides and fur of the ani- 
mals, was entirely glass; every tawny 
hair in the lion's mane being a distinct 
thread of the brittle material, and every 
coloured fibre in the tiger's striped hide a 
separately spun specule of corresponding 
hued glass. Here, no doubt, were the 
evidences of vast labour, of most patient 
and delicate handiwork. But the art of 
the exhibition was shown in the skill and 
fidelity with which nature had been imi- 
tated, in the whole aspect and bearing of 
the animals, in the fine swell of their 
muscles — the attitudes and cord-like 
tenseness given to the legs — and above 
all, in the fierce and life-like aspect im- 
parted to the creatures' heads, that of the 
lion in particular flaming upwards from 
the tangled masses of shaggy mane. 

The artist looked upon his works with 
paternal pride. *^ I am the only man in 
Europe," he said, ** who can make the 
like." He added, that he had been sent 
for by the late ex-king of the French, 
who had purchased several smaller ani- 
mals, made in the style of those I saw. 
I expressed a hope that I should en- 
counter the lion in the London ex- 
position. " No," the man replied. 
** He had shown his collection to great 
English milords when he was in Paris ; 
but they were stiff and cold, aiid 
the reception they had given him dis- 
couraged him from thinking of sending 
any specimens of his skill to London." 

It is to be <faoped, however, that M. 
Lambourg (such is the artist's name) will 
change his mind in this respect. The 
lion cost him five years' labour. He 
estimated its value at 30,000 francs, 
while he rated the tiger and the leopard 
as worth 15,000 francs each. 


There were two neighbours, who had 
each a wife and several little children, 
and their wages, as common labourers, 
were their only support. 

One of these men was fretful and dis- 
quieted, saying, " If I die, or even if I fall 
sick, what wiU become of my family?" 
This thought never left him, but gnawed 
his heart, as a worm the fruit in which it 
is hidden. 

Now, although the same thought was 
presented to the mind of the other father, 
yet he was not firetted by it, for he said, 
** God, who knows all his creatures, and 
watches over them, will also watch over 
me and my family." Thus he lived 
tranquil, while the other neither tasted 
repose nor joy. 

One day, as the latter was labouring 
in the field, sad and downcast because of 
his fears, he saw some birds go in and 
out of a plantation. Having approached, 
he found two nests placed side by side, 
and in each several young ones, newly 
hatched, and still unfledged. When he 
returned to his work, he frequently 
looked at these birds, as they went out 
and returned, carrying nourishment to 
their young broods. But, behold ! at 
the moment when one of the mothers is 
returning with her bill full, a vulture 
seizes her, carries her off, and the poor 
mother, vainly struggling with his grasp, 
utters a piercing cry. 

At this sight, the man who was work- 
ing felt his soul more troubled than 
before ; for he thought the death of the 
mother was the death of the young. 

" Mine have only me— no other ! 
What will become of them if I fail 
them ? " 

All the day he was gloomy and sad, 
and at night he slept not. On the mor- 
row, as he returned to the field, he said, 
'* I should like to see the little ones of 
that poor mother. Several, without 
doubt, have already perished." 

He set off towards the plantation, and 
looking into the nests, he saw the young 
ones alive and well ; not one seemed to 



have suffered. Astonished at this, he 
hid himself, in order to see the cause. 
After a while, he lieard a light cry, and 
perceived the other mother hringing back 
in haste the food she had gathered, which 
she distributed, without distinction, 
among all the young ones. There was 
some for each, and the orphans were 
not abandoned in their misery. 

In the evening, the father who had 
distrusted Providence related to the 
other father what he had seen, who 
observed, " Why fret yourself? God 
never abandons his children : his love 
has some secrets which we do not know. 
Let us believe, hope, love, labour, and 
pursue our course in peace ; if I die 
Defore you, you shall be a father to my 
children ; and if you die before me, I 
will be a father to yours ; and if we bolh 
die before they are of an age to provide 
for themselves, they will have fur a 
parent * our Father who is in heaven.' " 
-—From the French, 


A philosophical correspondent of an 
American journal, alluding to certain 
strange noises which had alarmed the 
superstitious, writes : — " The Rochester 
Knockings and the Derby Spectres re- 
mind me of the Talking Well ; a pheno- 
menon prohably quite as supernatural as 
they. I have forgotten the place in 
which it occurred, and whether it was in 
England or in this country ; hut the cir- 
cumstances, as related in the newspapers, 
I clearly remember. A well was heard 
to give forth, in an articulate voice, 
answers to any question which a person 
standing over its mouth chose to put. 
The report of this extraordinary pheno- 
menon spread far and near, and thou- 
sands of people came to witness it. A 
question asked at a little distance from 
its margin was not answered ,* but when 
the questioner spoke so near to it that his 
voice could enter the well, an answer in a 
human voice was given almost immedi- 
ately afterwards. 

'' The thing continued to be a wonder 
for a few days, and people came from a 
considerable distance to put questions 
and hear the replies of the talking well. 
At length the mystery was cleared up. 
Two men had been engaged in repairing 
the well, which was furnished with a 
drain, terminating at a distance of nearly 
a quarter of a mile. It happened that 

one of them was employed at the well, 
and the other at the mouth of the drain, 
when the one in the well heard the other 
breathing hard with the violent exertion 
of removing a stone, or something of that 
kind. A dialogue ensued between the two 
through the drain,* and the perfect trans- 
mission of the sounds seemed to them so 
remarkable, that they agreed to keep the 
thing, secret for a while, and amuse them- 
selves in the mean time at the expense 
of the public." Many of the frauds 
of Romish miracles are explicable ou 
grounds like the above. 


A gentleman, who has filled the high- 
est municipal offices in a transatlanlic 
city, owed his elevation chiefly to a single 
act of civility. 

A traveller, on a hot summer's day, 
wanted some water for his horse, and 
perceiving a well near the road side, 
turned his horse up towards it. Just 
then a lad appeared, to whom the stranger 
addressed himself, saying, "My young 
friend, will you do me the favour to draw 
a bucket of water for my horse, as I find 
it rather difficult to get off and on ? " 

The lad promptly seized the bucket, 
and soon brought a supply of water. 
Pleased with the cheerful temper and 
courteous manner of the youth, the tra- 
veller inquired his name; and so deep 
was the impression made on his mind, 
that the name of the lad and his place of 
residence were remembered until seve- 
ral years afterwards, when the traveller 
had occasion for a clerk. He then sent 
for this young man, and gave him a 
responsible and profitable place, from 
which he rose to a position of great trust 
and honour. 


*' Men talk in raptures," says Wither- 
spoon, *' of youth and beauty, wit and 
sprightliness in their wives; hut afcer 
seven years* union, not one of them is to 
be compared to good family manage- 
ment, which is seen at every meal, 
and felt every hour in the husband's 

This fact ought to he impressed upon 
the mind of every wife. It would save 
their husbands very much trouble, and 
make their own domestic life more plea- 
sant and happy. 


Tbis Doble bird, the giant of his race, 
though occauonal specimens of it bave 
been received from the Cape of Good 
Hope, and also from Ci)itiB, is to be 
regarded as tmly one of our European 
■peciee; in England and France it la of 
rare occurrence, but iu Norway, Sweden, 
Russia, Bud Hungary, it is very common, 
residing among tbe deep recesses of 
mighty forests, or the clefts of rocks 
amidst the mountains, or the desolate 
ruins of ancient towers. From ils lonely 
retreat, where it reposes in silence during 
the day, it issues forth as the dusk of 
evening throws a yet deeper gloom over 
the dark pine forest or rock-girt glen, to 
prowl in quest of pre}'. On silent wing 
It akims through the wood, and marks 
the faWD) the hare, or the rabbit, nibbling 
the herbage, as, concealed by the broad 

shadows, it skirts the line of dark black 
foliage. Suddenly wheeling, it sweeps 
upon the unsuspecting victim, and, if 
not loo large, bears it off, eegle-like, in 
its talons. Other and less noble game is 
also to be reckoned as its prey, such as 
rats, mice, squirrels, and frogs ; these 
are swallowed entire, after being merely 
crushed into a mass by the efforti of the 
bill, and the bone, skina, feathers, or 
hair, rolled into a hall, are afternards 

The eagle owl is about two feet in 
length, the upper surface is waved, 
barred, anil dashed with black on a min- 
gled brown and yellow ground. The 
throat is white ; the under surface is 
yellow, with longitudinal streaks of black 
on tlie chest, and line transverse bars 
below. Tarsi feathered lo the toes. 
Beak and claws black ; iris hrijibt 
orange. This magnificent bird builds a 





large nest oF sticks, in the crevices of 
rocks, in old ruined castles, or in hollow 
trees ; the eggs are three in number, and 

A remarkable account of the extraor- 
dinary attachment of these birds to their 
young is given by bishop Stanley, In his 
" Familiar History of Birds." The case 
was witnessed by a Swedish gentleman, 
who resided several years on a farm near 
a steep mountain, on the summit of which 
two eagle owls 'had constructed their 
nests. One day, in the month of July, 
a young bird, having quitted the nest, 
was caught by the servants. Considering 
the season of the year, it was well fea* 
thered. Having been shut up in a large 
hen-coop, to his surprise, on the follow* 
ing morning, a fine young partridge was 
found lying dead before the door of the 
coop. It was immediately concluded 
that this provision had been brought 
there by tne old owls, which no doubt 
had been making search in the night- 
time for their lost young one. And such 
was, indeed, the fact ; for night after 
night, for fourteen days, was the same 
mark of attention repeated. The game 
which the old ones carried to it consisted 
chiefly of young partridges, for the most 
part newly killed, but sometimes a little 
spoiled. On one occasion, a moor-fowl 
was brought, so fresh that it was actually 
warm under the wings ; and at another 
time, a putrid stinking lamb was de- 

The harsh and dismal tones of these 
nightly prowlers resounding through the 
gloomy solitudes of a wild and savage 
scene, rendered still more gloomy by the 
dusk of evening or the blackness of night, 
are apt to be associated in the minds of 
the timid and superstitious with feelings 
of mysterious and indescribable awe; 
these feelings have ever prevailed among 
the rude and unenlightened, and hence 
has this bird, once more common in Eng- 
land than at present, been regarded, like 
the rest of its race in general, with fear 
and aversion, as if their discordant yells 
betokened the coming of evil. To this 
effect the strange aspect, the large eyes, 
the odd and singular motions, the noise- 
less flight, and nocturnal habits, in con- 
nection with the situations where they 
find a retreat by day, all combine to add. 
Superstition and ignorance go hand in 
hand ; the hooting of the owl, and 
** trifles light as air," seen through the 
perverted medium of credulity, will strike 
terror into the heart which actual danger 

would never appal. But the supersti- 
tious fears, which arise in cases liKe the 
present, though indicative of a weak and 
uneducated mind, are not connected with 
criminal ignorance, that ignorance which 
makes the peasant of Spain or France 
bow awe-struck before a rude cross or a 
graven image, and yet violate without a 
pang the plainest commands of God; 
tremble to eat meat in Lent, but yet pro- 
fane the sabbath by converting it into a 
day of worldly pleasure and business ; 
mortify his body by penance, and yet 
allow every base and evil passion to riot 
uncontrolled in his soul ; pray to saints, 
and pray to sinners, but seek not Hia 
intercession who alone is " the Way, the 
Truth, and the Life." The philosophic 
Christian may smile at the weakness of 
him who trembles at the voice of the owl 
sounding through the still air among the 
lonely ruins ; but should he not feel a 
stronger and deeper emotion, when, tra- 
velling in foreign lands, he sees the 
superstition of him whose ignorance is 
the parent of sin and death ? 


An old man sat in his easy chair. He 
was alone. His eyes were so dim that he 
could not read the printed page — he had 
Ions ceased to hear any common sound, 
ana it was only in broken whispers that 
he could hold communion with those 
around ; and often hours passed by in 
which the silence of his thought was not 
broken by an outward voice. He had 
outlived his generation ; — one by one the 
companions of his boyhood and youth 
had been laid in the grave, until none 
remained of all those he had once known 
and loved. To those to whom the future 
is one bright path of hope, and happi- 
ness, and social love, how unenviable 
seemed his condition ! how cheerless his 
days ! 

I have said he was alone. A gentle 
and thoughtful child stole into his silent 
room, and twined her arm lovingly 
around his neck. " I feared you would 
be lonely, dear grandfather," said she ; 
** and so I came to sit awhile with you. 
Are you not very lonely here, with no 
one to speak to, or to love ? " The old 
man paused for a moment, and laid his 
hand upon the head of the gentle child. 
"I am never alone, my child," he said. 
'' How can I be lonely ? for Qod is with 
me ; the Comforter comes from the 



Fatber to dwell in my soul, and my 
Saviour is ever near to cheer and instruct 
me. I sit at his feet, and leam of him ; 
and though pain and sickness often come 
to warn me that this earthly house of my 
tabernacle is soon to be dissolved, I 
know that there is prepared for me a 
mansion, the glories of which no tongue 
can tell, no heart conceive. The love of 
God is like living water to my soul 
Seek in your youth this fountain, my 
child. Ihrink deep of its living waters ; 
and then, when your hair shall be 
whitened for the grave, when all sources 
of earthly enjoyment are taken away, 
you too can say, ' I am never alone.' '* 

Let this testimony of an aged and 
devoted servant of Christ sink deep into 
the heart of every one who reads these 
lines. Seek that consolation which can 
be your joy in sickness, in trial, and in 
solitude — your stay when all earthly helps 
have failed. Then will it be your blessed 
privilege to say, **I, too, am never alone." 
-^Christian Citizen, 


" WATEa," observes a foreign writer, 
** is a universal benefactor. As a beverage 
it is truly one of Heaven's choicest gifts 
to man. As the means of preparing his 
food, it is inestimable. As a medicine, 
its virtues are beginning to be acknow- 
ledged. By its mobility it secures that 
perfect equilibrium or level so essential 
to the safety of the inhabitants of the 
land. By its buoyancy it furnishes a 
dwelling-place for all aquatic tribes, and 
lays the foundation for the whole art of 
navigation. By its pressure when at rest 
it furnishes a convenient force for the 
hydraulic press. When in motion, as in 
the river or cataract^ it supplies to man 
an exhaustless fund of mechanical power, 
ready to turn all his machines and per- 
form all his labours. Finally, in the 
power of steam a mechanical power is 
derived from water, the use of which 
has likened man to the genii of ancient 

Few things are more marvellous than 
the changing shapes which this fluid 
auumes. No conjuror could execute 
such metamorphoses. At one time it 
descends in the form of a hard substance 
from the sky, breaking the glass of your 
attic window by its violence. Catch up 
this hailstone, and watch it for a little; 
it melts away, and becomes invisible. 

Take the same hailstone, however, and 
place it under a glass with thrice its 
weight of lime; it gradually dissolves; 
but not into empty space, — for the dry 
earth under the glass, instead of being 
three parts earth, as it was when you put 
it in, has now been converted into four ! 
In the one case water took an etherial 
form, and vanished altogether. In the 
other it has assumed a tangible body, 
and from a fluid has passed into a 

The extent to which water mingles 
with bodies apparently the most solid, is 
also very wonder^l. The glittering opal, 
which the beauty wears as an ornament, 
is only flint and water. Of every twelve 
hundred tons of earth which a landholder 
has in his estate, four hundred are water. 
Snowdon and Ben Nevis have many mil- 
lion tons of water in a solidified form. In 
every plaster of Paris statue which an 
Italian carries through London streets 
for sale, there is one pound of water to 
every four pounds of cnalk. The air we 
breathe contains five grains of water in 
each cubic foot of its bulk. The potatoes 
and the turnips which are boiled for our 
dinner, have, in their raw state, the one 
seventy-five per cent, the other ninety 
per cent, of water. A beef-steak, too, if 
pressed between blotting-paper, yields 
nearly four-fifths of its weight in water. 
" If a man weighing ten stone," says an 
admirable article in the ** Quarterly 
Review ** for September last, ** were 
squeezed flat in a hydraulic press, seven 
and a half stone of water would run out, 
and only two and a half of dry residue 
remain. A man is, chemically speaking, 
forty-five pounds of carbon and nitrogen, 
diffused through five and a half pailfuls 
of water." In plants we find water thus 
mingling no less wonderfiilly. A sun- 
flower evaporates one and a quarter pint 
of water a day, and a cabbage about the 
same quantity. A wheat-plant exhales 
in a hundred and seventy-two days about 
one hundred thousand grains of water. An 
acre of growing wheat, on this calcula- 
tion, draws in and passes out about ten 
tons of water per day. The sap of plants 
is the medium through which this mass of 
fluid is conveyed. It forms a delicate 
pump, up which the watery particles run 
with the rapidity of a swift stream. By the 
action of the sap, various properties may 
be communicated to the growing plant. 
Timber in France is, for Instance, dyed 
by various colours being mixed with 
water, and poured over by the root of the 

M 2 



tree. Dahlias are also coloured by an 
analogous process. 

As a general solvent or melter, water 
is no less remarkable. Various bodies, 
in order to have their properties called 
into action, require to be brought into a 
state, of mixture or combination with 
each other, and to be broken up for that 
purpose. Water is the grand crushing- 
mill employed in the economy of nature 
to accomplish this end. No stonebreaker 
on the road more effectually does bis 
work than water, — though the latter acts 
by a slower process. " Few things," 
says a writer, in an American publica- 
tion, '* appear more admirable to the 
student than the discrimination which 
water exhibits in the different degrees of 
solvent power it exerts upon different 
substances, dissolving just so much as the 

Serfect economy of nature in each case 
emands, but still leaving it to man to 
exalt its solvent powers by heat whenever 
he requires tliem to act with greater 
energy." This power of water as a dis- 
solver may be seen in a familiar form in 
the melting of salt ; but it extends also 
to bodies of a far more durable substance. 
" A constant dropping wears away a 
stone," is a proverb as true in the natural 
as in the moral world. The action of 
rain upon glass, in time, pierces the 
latter, — as may be seen in some of the 
windows of Westminster Abbey, which 
** are quite honeycombed on the outside, 
and nearly eaten through." Even flint 
may be reduced to a state of jelly by the 
action of water. In the hot springs of 
Iceland so much silicious matter is thrown 
up, that objects dipped in the stream 
often assume a flinty coating. Turning 
to our own bodies, we find blood to be 
only water holding certain substances 
connected with nutrition and digestion in 
a fluid state. 

As a great carrier, water next demands 
our notice. We do not allude here to its 
adaptation to the art of navigation, but 
to its self-acting power of transporting 
various substances from one place to 
another. In this respect it beats Pick- 
ford and all our railway carriers hollow. 
Through the medium of vapour, immense 
quantities of subtle decayed organic mat- 
ter are taken up into the air, and carried 
again to other quarters, where they de- 
scend in the form of rain. To this cause 
may be attributed those occasional red, 
green, and black showers which fall, to 
the great terror of particular districts. 
The colours in question arise from the 

water mingling with animalcules and 
organic matter, of a particular tinge, 
which it had carried up from some other 
district. Rivers exercise extensively this 
property of carrying. Even the rate of 
speed of this aquatic railroad may be 
measured. "A current," we are told, 
" that flows half a foot per second will 
move fine sand along its channel; at a 
velocity of one foot per second it will set 
fine gravel rolling ; at two feet per second 
pebbles, an inch in diameter, are carried 
on ; while at a speed of three feet per 
second angular fragments are carried 
along." As a specimen of the results of 
this power of carriage, we learn that the 
Ganges carries down a hundred thousand 
feet of dissolved or suspended earth per 

This property of water as a carrier, 
however, has its attendant inconveni- 
ences, inasmuch as it gathers in its course 
various substances of a deleterious cha- 
racter. Gas, in the streets of London, 
occasionally escapes, and is imbibed by 
the water in the adjoining pipes. House- 
maids, we are informed, have been 
startled by the phenomenon of flames 
issuing from the cock of the cistern, when 
their candles had unsuspectingly been 
placed near it. In travelling along cer- 
tain soils, water mingles with earthy 
alkaline and metallic salts, the effects of 
which upon health are variously estimated 
by different medical authorities. By some 
the presence of such substances is re- 
garded as beneficial, and necessary to the 
formation of bone in the human system ; 
by others it is viewed as laying the foun- 
dation of calculous disorders. In some 
districts of London earthy water is, from 
habit, preferred to a purer description of 
fluid. On one occasion, when repre- 
sentations had been made as to its im- 
purity, a large portion of the consumers 
protested against any interference with 
their drinking it, as it was, to their taste, 
soft and excellent. 

Water receives impurities, however, 
not only from the soil through which it 
flows, but also, as we have seen, from the 
organic substances which it takes up into 
the atmosphere, and returns to the earth 
in rain. Millions of tons of floating 
matter are thus taken up, serving as food 
for numerous tribes of animalcules. In 
Manchester, the rain-water in the neigh- 
bourhood partakes of the soot and otSier 
chemical mgredients vomited forth from 
the tall manufacturing chimneys. During 
the time of the potato disease, the water 



of the river Lea, near London, was found 
to be impregnated with the nauseous 
smell of the decayed vegetable, so as to 
be very unwholesome. It is not always 
deleterious matter, however, which is 
thus carried by rain. Wholesome ingre- 
dients are also transported bv it, and 
deposited on particular soils, where their 
presence is required. What has been 
stated, however, shows the insalubrity, in 
the generality of instances, of rain-water, 
and the caution with which it should be 
used for domestic puxposes. 

The extent to which health is affected 
by the use of impure water was too abun- 
dantly manifested during the last visita- 
tion of the cholera, to require much 
illustration at our hands. In many 
instances, the disease was traced clearly 
to this cause, and ceased on wholesome 
water being substituted. The state of 
water in the district ought, therefore, to 
be one of the first objects of inquiry in 
the selection of a residence. Of the 
serious results of the mixture of ferment- 
ing organic matter with water, an ex- 
ample is given in an admirable article in 
the " Quarterly Review," previously re- 
ferred to. Fourteen years ago, the pu- 
trescent residuum of a starch factory, at 
Nottingham, was suffered to contaminate 
a brook near that town, containing fish 
and frogs, and resorted to by cattle for 
drink. The fish and frogs disappeared 
from the water, and the cattle sidiered a 
series of symptoms analogous to those 
described as caused by poison. After 
twenty-fotur calves and nine cows had 
miserably perished, the contamination of 
the water was stopped by an action at 
law. A city in Italy, abo, was during 
the last century nearly depopulated by 
a series of epidemics, which were clearly 
traceable to the use of water polluted by 
-the steeping of flax. As a specimen of 
the minuteness of the substances which 
act, when necessity requires it, as the 
agents for destroying the purity of water, 
one animalcule may be mentioned. It 
is found in cascades, sticking to the stone 
over which the water rushes ; ** and if 
put into a phial with above a million 
times its weieht of water, it infects the 
whole mass with a putrid odour, so strong 
as to be offensive at several yards dis- 
tance; and this not once, but several 
times ailay, if the water be changed so 

As a counterpoise to this tendency of 
irater to imbibe impurities, there exist 
certain natural arrangements for cleans- 

ing it. By a chemical process, tainted 
water, when it falls upon rock or sand, is 
rapidly separated from its impure par- 
ticles. The stones in a running brook 
act as a filter, by a beautiful and simple 
agency, which we cannot, however, pause 
to explain. Various animalcules perform 
the part of scavengers in water. A parti- 
cular insect, for instance, withdraws the 
iron from chalybeate springs; another 
removes flinty particles. Birds and plants 
have also their uses. *' A pair of swans," 
we are told by the journal already quoted, 
" have recently been employed at Glas- 
gow, to keep a large reservoir clear of 
aquatic weeds, which previously abounded 
in the water, and which these graceful 
functionaries clear away with a nimble- 
ness that leaves nothing to be desired. 
Another gentleman has kept twelve gal- 
lons of water in a state of purity, by the 
reciprocal action of two gold fish, six 
water snails, and a water-plant, known as 
vdlisneria spiralis. The snails eat the 
decayed matter of the plants ; the fish 
feed on the young snails ; and the plant 
absorbs the impure gas generated by its 
companions, returning in a stream of 
bubbles the supply of pure air necessary 
for their consumption.' 

Amidst the various properties of water 
let us not, before dismissing the subject, 
forget to notice how it acts as the medium 
through which the temnerature of the 
atmosphere is regulated. In melting 
platina, a heat of nearly twenty thousand 
degrees is raised; and by the galvanic 
deflagrator and the oxyhydrogen blow- 
pipe, we may produce a temperature im- 
measurably higher even than this. In a 
chemical process for the solidification of 
carbonic acid, chemists reach a degree of 
cold equal to a hundred and seventy-four 
degrees below zero. So immense is the 
range of temperature of which heat is 
susceptible. Yet Providence most stu- 
diously confines the heat of the surface of 
the globe within the narrow limits of two 
hundred degrees, from the lowest to the 
highest temperature ever exhibited by the 
atmosphere. Water is the agent by 
which this arrangement, so necessary for 
the preservation of life, is carried out. 
As soon as the cold in winter begins to 
grow severe and threatening, water in- 
stantly changes its state from a fluid to a 
solid; giving out its hidden heat to the 
atmosphere, and thus preventing the 
further increase of cold. On the other 
hand, when heat approaches a dangerous 
excess, water evaporates, and withdraws, 



in the shape of vapour, a large quantity 
of heat, which would otherwise have 
accumulated to a dangerous degree. 
Water, therefore, stands as a sentind on 
either hand, to guard all living things 
from the region of death that lies on each 
side of the narrow range to which the 
temperature of the atmosphere is con* 

Such are some of the wonders of 
water. How graciously has our heavenly 
Father consulted our happiness in tht 
manifold operations to whicn he has made 
it subservient 1 How thankful ought we, 
too, who reside in temperate climates, to 
be for the abundance with which it is 
supplied to us I How awful, on the other 
hand, to contemplate a state of existence 
in which one drop of this element, now so 
profusely distributed, shall in vain be 
solicited by the impenitent sinner, to cool 
his tongue I W« 


Yes, " the winter is past, the rain is 
over and gone ; the flowers appear on the 
earth ; the time of the singing of birds is 
come;" and spring, with its tea thou- 
sand beauties, is here. Stern, frowning, 
freezing, barren winter has departed, and 
given place to a season of sunshine and 
odours. What a mercy to the poor, who 
have but few clothes and little firing ; and 
what a gratification to the rich, who have 
their gardens and orchards, and who are 
in circumstances to sojourn where nature 
spreads her richest carpet, and scatters 
her most precious treasures I To the 
other classes of the great family of man, 
these early months of the year are also 
pregnant with sweets, and 'fruitful with 
influences that must, if tasted and felt, 
awaken emotions of pleasure and songs 
of praise. Patriarchs and prophets — 
bards and historians — poets and philoso- 
phers — husbandmen and artisans — have 
alike hailed this season as a gift, and 
adored the bounteous Giver. And shall 
not we welcome it ? Shall we be unmind« 
ful of His goodness whose paths drop 
fatness, and who causes the little hills to 
rejoice on every side? Rather let us 
contemplate the character, consider the 
cause, and profit by the lessons of spring, 


It has a character of its own. How 
unlike the season that precedes it, and 
those that follow it ! 

1. It is pre-eminently the season of 
Ufe. Not dormant, drowsy, declining 

life; but waking, expanding life. The 
tree, the shrub, the flower, the soil, all 
inulicate and express the vitality of nature. 
The buddings — the outbursts of vegetable 
life— -are everywhere observable. The 
seed grain germinates; roots strike and 
extend their fibres; the ground yields 
sustenance ; light, air, and moisture con- 
tribute their separate and combined mea- 
sure of influence; and chemical actions 
subordinate the whole to the various yet 
uniform objects which nature exhibits in 
such lovely dresses, and in forms so smi- 
lingly attractive. But the works of God 
in the natural world symbolixe his deeds 
in the spiritual. Let us therefore pause 
to inquire into the state of our hearts, 
and ascertain how far their condition will 
•Uow lu to trace the moral analogiea of 

Is this the season of life with our souls ? 
Is heavenly. Divine life implanted within 
us? Are we God's husbandry? Are we 
under the culture of the Holy Spirit? 
Has the good seed of the kingdom been 
sown in our hearts? Is the root of the 
matter within us? Are we plants of the 
Lord's^ own rightrhand planting? Are 
we his vineyard — his garden, into which 
he comes, and through which he walks 
with delight? Then, supposing that we 
have life, is it visible ?— can those about 
us take knowledge of it? Are we unlike 
the world ? Does Christ, who is our life, 
appear in us ? Do we resemble Jesus-— 
the meek, the lowly, the self-denying, 
the loving Saviour? Oh for life, and the 
evidences and proofs of it, so that our 
friends and neighbours may be con- 
strained to acknowledge that there is a 
reality in spiritual religion ! Oh for the 
zeal and energy that ought to charao^ 
terize the living— those who were d^id 
in trespasses and sins, but whom the 
Lord hath quickened to spiritual and 
eternal life. 

2. Spring is the season of gladnesi, 
hilarity, and joy. The heavens and the 
earth smile. The trees of the field clap 
their hands, woods and forests sport with 
glee, and send forth their echoings in 
^ohan strains. Breezes play around. 
The outgoings of the morning and even- 
ing rejoice. Birds carol on their wings, 
and from " morn to dewy eve " charm us 
with their music. Lambs eambol on the 
hillock. Fish are playful in the lake. 
The neighing of the horse, the repose of 
the ox, the bleating of the sheep, all add 
to the joyousness of the season. The 
ploughinan, the sower, the hedge-dreawri 



the woodman, the shepherd, go forth to 
their work and labour with a measure of 
icstinctive delight such as they could not 
call up when wintry storms darkened the 
day and disquieted the night; and if they 
are true Christians — Jesus' loving, con- 
fiding disciples — almost every object in 
nature suggests to them a song of praise. 
A joyous air seems to be thrown over the 
entire creation. 

May it not now be well to ask — Are 
we glad?--glad at heart— glad in the 
Lord — glad with the gladness of his cho- 
sen people ? His eye [is upon us, his 
heart is toward us, his arm maintains us, 
and his hand feeds us. Are we sensible, 
then, of his kindness, and grateful for it? 
Are his mercies received as gifts, enjoyed 
as favours, and employed as talents ? Is 
his word prayerfully read ? Are his sab- 
baths devoutly observed? Is the place 
where he is worshipped reverently and 
conscientiously frequented? Above all, 
do we repent of sin ? exercise faith 
in the Lord Jesus? and has the Holy 
Spirit taken possession of our hearts? Are 
we reconciled to God, through the death 
of his dear Son? If so, then we may — 
we ought to be glad. In such facts and 
prospects as these, there is more to make 
us sing than in all the cares and sorrows 
of life to make us sad. 

3. Spring is the season of hope ; — it is 
introductory to summer, which, again, 
leads on to autumn. The farmer, the 
florist, and the horticulturist are now full 
of expectation, and by hope are stimu- 
lated in their several pursuits. The deli- 
cate child, jfche youthful invalid, the con- 
sumptive sufferer, and the aged pilgrim 
are cheered also by the sunshine antici- 
pations of spring. The breezes become 
soft, the showers are fertilizing, the mea- 
dows are green, and the feathered tribes 
are vocal. 

^Tothe Christian, also, thisseason presents 
its analogies. The Bible to the believer's 
inner life is like nature to his outer one ; 
and as he walks through this spiritual 
garden, by meditation and prayer, he 
sees objects of surpassing loveliness, and 
Inhales odours of refreshing sweetness. 
When he goes forth, too, to the moral 
deserts around him, tp labour in the 
name of the Lord Jesus, hope still sus- 
tains and animates him. He has to clear 
the soil of its thorns, to break up the 
ground, to sow the good seed of the word 
of the Lord, to water plants, to prop up 
the bending shrub, to manure the root, to 
prune and train thefruk-bearing branches. 

The blessing he cannot command, — it lies 
beyond his reach; but he can 'use means 
which God hath promised to mske effec- 
tual. He sows, plants, and waters in hope. 
Nor can the hope that the Bible sanctions 
fail : ** For as the rain cometh down, and 
the snow from heaven, and returnetk 
not thither, but wateretfa the earth, and 
maketh it bring forth and bud, that it 
may give seed to the sower, and bread 
to the eater; so shall my word be that 
goeth forth out of my mouth : it shall 
not return unto me void; but it shall 
accomplish that which I please, and it 
shall prosper in the thing whereto I sent 
it," Isa. Iv. 10, Hi 


1. Much of the effects of spring is attri- 
butable to the sun. But for the increasing 
warmth and strength of his beams, we 
should have no spring. Leaves would 
want brightness, blossoms would lack ful- 
ness, flowers would have neither beauty 
nor odour, and fruit would want bloom 
and flavour. Oh ! the blessing of sun- 
shine — of light in combination with heat I 
Were this to be withdrawn altogether, or 
even partially, the consequences to the 
earth and its produce, and thereby to us, 
the children of men, to whom the earth 
is given, would be serious indeed ! The 
farmer would' till his field, and the gar- 
dener tend his beds, in vain. And what 
should we do in the moral and spiritual 
world without the Sun of Righteousness ? 
Could we live, grow, flourish, and bear 
fruit without its attractive and cheering 
beams? Impossible. The more directly 
and powerfully these beams fall upon us, 
the more prosperous shall we be. ^* The 
Lord God is a Sun," Ps. Ixxxiv. 1 1 , Jesus 
is "the Light of the world," John viii.l2 ; 
Without him, it is night ; and that night 
a cold, wintry one. Oh for the light of 
life to shine upon our hearts without an 
intervening cloud ! Oh for the presence 
of Christ without a separating veil ! This 
will turn night into day, and north into 
south : 

" Light of those whose dreary dwelling 

Borders on the shades of death ! 
Come, and sin's deep gloom dispelling, 

Shine upon the realms beneath. 
The new heaven and earth's Creator, 

On our deepest darkness rise; 
Scattering all the night of nature, 

Pouring daylight on our eyes." 

2. At this season the influence of rain 
is great and most propitious. Without 
moisture, heat would be rather injurious 
than otherwise to the vegetable world; 
for as water enters into the composition 



of every plant and flower, unless a mea- 
sure of this vital fluid be supplied, the 
other co^nponent parts would cease to act, 
or act too powerfully, and the chemical 
machinery becomes deranged, and, for all 
practical purposes, destroyed. The ereat 
God has distributed and arrangea the 
vegetable kingdom in wisdom, and has 
provided for its preservation and exten- 
sion with profuse liberality. By com- 
bining light and heat with rains and 
dews, and by their united action on soils 
and substances, he excites the root, im- 
pels the juices, expands the leaf, and 
exhales the odours of trees, shrubs, and 
flowers. He gives rain, and, thereby, 
fruitful seasons, filling our hearts with 
food and gladness. Acts xiv. 17. From 
the value and importance of rain in the 
natural world, it has become an emblem 
of Divine influence in the spiritual — of 
that influence which is essential to the 
life and growth of pure religion in the 
soul, as the Scriptures abundantly testify. 
'' He shall come down like rain upon the 
mown grass : as showers that water the 
earth. In his days shall the righteous 
flourish ; and abundance of peace so long 
as the moon endureth," Psa. Ixxii. 6, 7. 
** After two days will he revive us : in 
the third day he will raise us up, and we 
shall live in his sight ; .... and he 
shall come unto us as the rain, as the 
latter and former rain unto the earth," 
Hos. vi. 2, 3. 

In these, and promises of a similar 
import, we are encouraged to seek the 
grace of the Holy Spirit, which, when 
communicated, will refresh and make us 


Thankfulness, humiliation, and active 
service are all lessons suggested by this 
season. To the last alone, however, we 
bhall allude. 

All nature is at work. Birds are build- 
ing their nests. Bees are preparing to- 
gether their honey. The little ants are 
waking up from their wintry slumbers. 
Fish are leaving their grassy beds. The 
farmer, the eardener, the shepherd, are 
now more than usually active. Even 
commerce and trade are not contented 
with their ordinary measure of toils and 
returns. And shall we allow the golden 
hours of God's love to pass away, without 
special efibrts to be richer in faith, more 
energetic in hope, and warmer in zeal? 
Shall we deprive our souls of the benefit 
of those Divine influences which are fall- 
ing from sabbaths, from sermons, and 

from ordinances? Shall we not be anxious 
to profit by those heavenly visitations of 
life and love which bless our country, 
which sanctify our sanctusries, and which 
await us in our closets? Shall the slug- 
gard's dishonour and deprivations be 
ours? Shall we, who profess to be chil- 
dren of light, grope in darkness? Shall 
we, to whom the Holy Spirit is promised^ 
and who is shed forth so copiously, wither, 
or even remain in our present state ? O 
GK>d, thou who art acting out the designs 
of thy goodness in the natural world, 
fulfil in the hearts of thy people all the 
good pleasure of thy grace ; and the work 
of faitn with power ; array us in the beau- 
ties of holiness ; let the fruits of the Spirit 
abound in our hearts and lives; and, as 
thy husbandry, may we all show forth thy 

E raise. Draw forth our hearts to Jesus ; 
id us to glorify him in purpose and 
deed. May our souls bud,- bloom, and 
be fragrant for him; and having ho- 
noured him on earth, may we serve him 
in heaven : 

Oh may I be a lowly flower, 
Well watered by the dews of love ; 

Protected by Thy saving power. 
And bloom in paradise above. 

Great Ood of grace ! descend and bless 
The garden of thy care below ; 

The soil enrich — each fruit-tree dress, 
And heavcDly influence bestow. 

Prop on its stem the blushing rose, 
Guard the fair lily of the vale; 

Sustain the feeblest plant that grows, 
And bless thy vineyard with a gale. 


Were we to sit down to jurrite out a 
catalogue of our benefits and blessings^ 
the undertaking, to say the least of it, 
would occupy much time, and involve 
much difficulty. Though I could soon 
specify ^ve hundred of our common* 
place mercies ; on the present occasion I 
will content myself with five; seeing, 
hearing, smelling, tasting, and feeling. 

There is as much difference between 
the mere acknowledgment that we have 
five senses, and the grateful and thrilling 
consciousness of our possessing them, as 
there is between reading in a book of the 
rising sun, and walking on a summer's 
morn amid the glowing beauties of the 
natural creation. It is one of the funda- 
mental errors of humanity, and even of 
the Christian world, to prize too lowly 
the common gifts of our heavenly Father* 
We are too often coveting the possession s 
of others, instead of enjoying our own ; 
and we are continually praying to God 



for fresh mercies, when we ought to be 
praising him for what he has already so 
abundantly bestowed. Try to accom- 
pany me while I speak with animation 
of our five senses. 

What a blessing is the sense of sight, 
even if regarded only as a source of gra- 
tification ! The glowing sun and silvery 
inoon; the snowy clouds and kindling 
skies; the beauty of trees, plants, flowers, 
and the vegetable world; the lustre of 
precious stones, the diamond sparkle, and 
the ruby flame ; the plumage of birds, 
the swan, the peacock, the humming 
bird, and bird of Paradise ; with the 
endless variety in fish, and shells, and 
reptiles, and the insect world, all yield 
delight to the beholder. While, then, 
you think of sunbeams, beautiful colours, 
and forms of grace and. loveliness, con- 
trast them with more than Egyptian 
darkness ; with blackness, with incurable 
blindness, and then you will be in a 
position to thank God for the sense of 
seeing. Pity the poor blind I 

It would hardly be possible to extol 
too highly the enjoyment we derive from 
sweet, harmonious, and influential sounds. 
We can all remember seasons in which 
our hearts have been made happy through 
our ears. At home and abroad ; in-doors 
and out, our sense of hearing is a source 
of joy. The winds of heaven are Vocal, 
and the earth has unnumbered voices 
that minister to our pleasiure. Call to 
mind the whisperings of the wind, the 
murmuring of waters, the warbling of 
birds, the melody of music, the soft voice 
of affection, the heart-affecting language 
of prayer, and the entrancing influences 
of song and psalmody. What if our 
ears, in these cases the avenues to our 
hearts, were closed up for ever ! The 
thought is fearful, and is quite enough to 
wring from us an acknowledgment of 
gratitude to the Giver of all good for the 
sense of hearing. Do you know any 
who are deaf and dumb ? If so, let them 
be the objects of your tenderest sym- 

Who among us, whel^ smelling at a 
rose, pauses amid the cipnscious enjoy- 
ment imparted by its odorous jperfume 
to thank God for the sense of smell? 
Why were this not a common eveiy-day 
gratification, we should be half wild with 
joy every time the grateful aroma, arising 
from field or flower, gladdened our hearts. 
We have all lingered in gardens of sweet 
smelling flowers, wandered over meadows 
of new-mown hay, roamed in fields of 

blossoming vetches and clover, and revel- 
led with delight amid hills of heather and 
wild thyme, greedy of selfish pleasure, 
and guiltily unmindful of our heavenly 
Father's goodness, when our eyes ought 
to have sparkled with thankfulness, and 
our tongues should have been eloquent 
with praise. Some are fearfully deficient 
in these respects. To your knees, ye 
callous, obdurate and unthankful pos- 
sessors of benefits of which you are 
equally unmindful and unworthy; to 
your knees, to thank God with unfeigned 
emotion for the sense of smelling. 

The gourmands of the world, whose 
pampered palates receive from dainty 
meats their highest enjoyments are 
many ; but their thank-offerings for these 
enjoyments, alas ! I fear are few. It 
were well if this want of thankfulness 
extended no further ; but though a bless- 
ing may be asked on the food we eat, 
and thanks returned after we have par- 
taken of it, this is too often the tribute 
of custom rather than the incense of the 
heart. Who among us can honestly 
declare that the sense of tasting has ever 
awakened within him a gratitude at all 
apportioned to the value of the gift? We 
are all delinquents, all forward to receive 
favours from our Almighty friend, and 
backward to acknowledge our obligations. 
Not only should the venison and turtle- 
eaters among us, but the partakers of 
common food, made savoury by appe- 
tite, the drinkers of pure water, and the 
inhalers of fresh air, take themselves to 
task in this matter, and offer to God a 
more hearty thanksgiving than has ever 
yet emanated from their lips for the sense 
of tasting. 

Though our five senses are doubtless of 
different degrees of value to us, yet it 
sometimes pleases our heavenly Father 
to make one, and that by no means the 
most important one, a substitute for all 
the rest. An instance of this, by-and- 
by, will be given, but, in the meantime, 
what account have we to render of our 
grateful emotions, for that exquisite sus- 
ceptibility, that sense of feeling from 
which we derive so large an amount of 
gratification. What do we not owe for 
the refreshing coolness of the breeze, 
the invigorating warmth of the fire, the 
gentle pressure of the hand of friendship 
and affection, and the soft pillow of the 
bed of sickness I I feel ashamed, not so 
much of others, as of myself, for my 
indifference, my apathy, my torpitude, 
and my unthankfulness, in not mor« 



gratefully acknowledging the sense of 
feeling. Let us stir up one another to a 
more lively consciousness of our abun- 
dant benefits. 

I have been led to make these remarks 
by the perusal of a narrative, of ** Laura 
Bridgman, or the Child with only One 
Sense ;" a narrative that has, by excit^ 
ing my sensilnlities, more than once 
blinded my eyes with my tears. How 
mysteriously is the soul enshrined in the 
temple of the body with its five portals*^ 
the ^ve senses ! In the case of Laura 
Bridgman,four of these, seeing, hearing, 
smelling, and tasting appear to be closed 
up for ever; and yet, wonderful! the 
fifth, the sense of feeling, has been 
found sufficient to become a means of 
receiving on her part that instruction and 
knowledge which have enabled her to 
conceive the all-important truths of 
Christianity, and to hold pleasurable com- 
munion with those around her. I do not 
often indulge in a lengthy quotation, and 
shall therefore be the more readily par* 
doned in doing so now :~<- 

" It has been ascertained, beyond the 
possibility of doubt, that she cannot see 
a ray of light, cannot hear the least 
sound, and never exercises her sense of 
smell, if she has any. Thus her mind 
dwells in darkness and stillness as pro- 
found as that of a closed tomb at mid- 
night. Of beautiftil sights, and sweet 
sounds, and pleasant odours, she has no 
conception ; nevertheless, she seems as 
happy and playful as a bird or a lamb ; 
and the employment of her intellectual 
faculties, or the acquirement of a new 
idea, gives her a vivid pleasure which is 
plainly marked in her expressive features. 
She never seems to repine, but has all 
the buoyancy and gaiety of childhood. 
She is fond of fun and frolic, and, when 
playing with the rest of the children, her 
shrill laugh sounds loudest of the group. 
When left alone, she seems very happy if 
she has her knitting or sewing, and n^^iil 
busy herself for hours ; if she has no 
occupation, she evidently amuses herself 
by imaginary dialogues, or by recalling 
past impressions. She counts with her 
nngers, or spells out names of things 
which she has recently learned in the 
manual alphabet of the deaf mutes. In 
this lonely self-communion she seems to 
reason, reflect, and argue : if she spells a 
WT>rd wrong with the fingers of her right 
hand, she instantly strikes it with the 
fingers of her left, as her teacher does, in 
sign of disapprobation ; if rigbt, she pats 

herself on the head, and looks pleased. 
She sometimes purposely spells a word 
wrong with the left hand, looks roguish 
for a moment, and laughs; and then, 
with the right hand, strikes the left, as if 
to correct it. During the year, she has 
attained great dexterity in the use of the 
manual uphabet of the deaf mutes ; and 
she spells out the words and aentenoea 
which she knows so fast, and so deftly, 
that only those accustomed to this lan- 
guage can follow with the eye the rapid 
motiions of her fingers. When Laura is 
walking through a passage-way, with her 
hands spread before her, she knows in- 
stantly every one she meets, and passes 
them with a sign of recognition ; but if it 
be a girl of her own age, and especiaUy 
one of her favourites, there is instantly a 
bright smile of recognition, and a turning 
of arms— a grasping of hands, and a swift 
telegraphing upon the tiny fingers, whose 
rapid evolutions convey the thoughts and 
feelings from the outposts of one mind to 
those of the other. There are questions 
and answerer-exchanges of joy or sorrow, 
—•there are kissings and partings, j^st as 
between little children with all their 

What a leseon is here set before us ! A 
child, blind, deaf, dumb, and deprived of 
the senses of smelling and tasting, but 
yet happy! If such a one can wear a 
smile, and be thankful for her one talent, 
where are our hosannas and hallelujahs 
for the five committed to our care ? those 
five senses, with their five hundred inlets 
of gratification, that we have so long un- 
interruptedly enjoyed I 

We should regard it as an extreme 
case of folly were a rich man, led by his 
abundance, to look on rubies as beads of 
glass, and diamonds as pebble stones; 
and yet do we not, through thanklesa 
selfishness or thoughtless indifference, too 
often regard the more precious gifts of 
God— *>our common mereies and our five 
senses— with apathy and undoneem ? Let 
us arise from our torpor, and by kindness, 
according to our ability, to the blind, to 
the deaf and dumb, yea, to all and every 
one less favoured than ourselves, practi- 
cally praise Qod for our abounding bene- 
fits. Thus shall we put our senses to their 
noblest use, while at the same time we 
are hearing of the grace of our Redeemer 
—seeing, feeling, and tasting that "the 
Lord is good," and devoting ourselves 
more to his jlofy who " has given himself 
for us an o&ring and a sacrifice to God 
for a sweet-smelling savour." 




Some thirty years ago, captain Basil Hall, 
an intelligent naval writer, astonished the 
English puhlic not a little by his descrip- 
tion of the refined and courteous treat- 
ment which had been shown to the crews 
of two British men-of-war which had 
tonched at the island of Loo-choo, in the 
Chinese seas. All was hospitality and 
kindness. More than this, too, the na- 
tives seemed patterns of honesty and 
gentleness. No species of arms, or any 
traces of the inhabitants being acquainted 
with their use, could be discovered. The 
place looked like some fairy-land spot, 
exempted from the taint ^ sin and 
sorrow that had blighted the rest of 
creation. On his passage homewards, 
captain Hall touched at St. Helena, and 
was admitted to an interview with its 
illustrious captive, Napoleon Bonaparte, 
to whom the marvels of Loo-choo were 
narrated. '^ Impossible ! " the latter ex- 
claimed, when he heard it stated that its 
people bad no warlike implements ; "you 
must have been mistaken." Captain 
Hall, however, published bis narrative; 
exceedingly interesting it was, and pro- 
bably not a few sentimental readers 
sighed for a more intimate acquaintance 
with the unsophisticated children of na- 
ture who inhabited the sunny clime of 

A few years ago, some benevolent 
Christians pitied the state of this region. 
Too wise to believe the fable which had 
been recorded of its inhabitants, they 
knew, that however fair their exterior, 
beneath it lurked the carnal heart un- 
renewed by the Holy Spirit, at enmity 
with God, and incapable, in that condi- 
tion, of eternal happiness. They resolved 
accordingly to send the gospel to it, dis- 
believing the finely coloured pictures. 
A Dr. Bettelheim was selected, his medi- 
cal skill being considered as likely to 
aid materially his spiritual labours. The 
result of his mission is given in the 
'^ Chinese Repository of Canton,'' in a 
letter to Dr. Parker. It will interest our 
readers to learn the peculiar difficulties 
which he has had to encounter : difficult 
as are all mission-fields, Loo-choo seems 
to have had some of a perfectly unique 

On the 2nd of May, 1846, Loo-choo— 
or Lew Chew as it is sometimes spelt — 
eame within sight of Dr. Bettelheim. 
The missionary's heart beat high. Cap- 

tain Basil Hall's land of sentiment and 
poetry was before him, and everything 
looked truly picturesque ; the hills were 
crowned with trees; verdant slopes ran 
down to the sea. It seemed to nim, in 
short, as the garden <tf the Lord. Re- 
tiring to his cabin, he poured out his soul 
to God : . " Oh that the Lewchewans may 
know the day of their visitation I Ob, 
Lord Jesus, it is time for thee now to 
work; thy church has found out this 
distant spot in thy creation, where to 
plant a new abode for thy truth. Prayer, 
and gold, and silver have been ofi*ered 
upon thine altar for this cause. O Lord, 
disappoint not thy praying, longing, 
wishing servants. Let us be received— 
let thy word find a place-— let thy truth 
be valued. Give us prudence and wis- 
dom to know the way in which best to 
gain the confidence of thy sheep in Lew 
Chew." If, in the sequel, this prayer 
does not appear to have been answered, 
let us not judge precipitately. True 
prayer may often seem to find no return, 
yet it never can be offered in vain, though 
the reply may appear to disappoint our 
short-sighted expectations. 

The missionary's difficulties began at 
landing; his infant-school teacher grew 
faint-hearted, and turned back ; his inter- 
preter proved to know little or nothing of 
the language ; the captain of the vessel 
interposed difficulties to his going on 
shore ; and, when he did get to land, he 
found himself with all his trunks and 
luggage on the beach, none offering him 
shelter, or a place where to deposit his 
stores. The polite and courteous Loo- 
chooans seemed to have lost their hospi- 
table qualities, and it was only after 
considerable exertion that he got tempo- 
rary accommodation. Forthwith there 
commenced a new series of annoyances. 
Jealous of the visit of a stranger, and 
totally ignorant, of course, of the motives 
of love which had transported him thither, 
the authorities of Loo-choo, like the 
inhabitants of Decapolis of ol^, begged 
him " to depart from their coasts." They 
hinted, that so great had been the dearth 
of provisions, that he was not unlikely to 
starve : wild pine-apples would, not im- 
probably, be his breakfast, dinner, and 
supper. In conclusion, they came to 
coaxing: "I humbly beg of you, sir," 
—-so ended the official despatch— <* to 
have some consideration for this dis- 
tressed, worn-out country ; look down on 
us with magnanimity — be humane and 
compassionate ; wait till wind and weather 



be favourable, then sail back to your own 

A present of aromatic oils, Englisb 
coins, and fancy work, together with a 
showy American clock, were sent by Dr. 
Bettelheim to the authorities. A residence 
was conceded to him at last — ^rather a 
characteristic one, too. It was a heathen 
temple, pleasantly situated, but rotten 
with age and full of idols, with a bonze, 
or priest, to take care of them. What a 
sight to stir up a missionary's zeal I The 
constant spectacle of the bonze offering 
sacrifices, and boys bringing fresh flowers, 
was accompanied with another annoyance. 
A swarm of rats waited to devour the 
meats that were presented; and, one 
night, the missionary and his family were 
kept awake by the movements oi what 
was feared to be a serpent among the 
idols. Gradually they succeeded in 
shutting up the images in cages, much 
to the mortification of the priest, who 
informed them that their inherent god- 
head would die without a true supply of 
light. "Oh, how great," exclaims the 
missionary, ** is that darkness that has 
need of daylight to keep its gods alive." 

Our missionary now determined to try 
the effect of imparting to the natives some 
of the advantages of European skill. He 
offered to the authorities to give gratuitous 
instruction in medicine, in the English 
language, and in geography and astro- 
nomy. A very characteristic reply was 
received — it is worth reading : 

" Without spending time upon compli- 
ments, your letter can be answered. In 
this country we have usually gone to 
China to learn the medical art, and to 
purchase medicines; we are now well 
skilled in healing and bestowing aid, so 
that we are afflicted neither with igno- 
rance nor with want of medicines. 

" With regard to studying and writing 
Englisb, as our country is small and the 
people stupid, they cannot be aroused 
sufficiently to receive instruction, and 
become qualified to attend to important 

" With regard to studying geography 
and astronomy, the captains of our ves- 
sels have usually gone to China to learn 
them ; they are able to observe the state 
of the weather, they are skilled in the use 
of the compass, and acquainted with all 
the channels between here and China. 
There is, therefore, no need of their 
receiving instruction from you." 

What was the discouraged missionary 
to do? He resolved to abandon the 

baits by which he had tried to allure 
them, and to fall back upon purely mis- 
sion ^ork-to try preaching the simple 
gospel to them. In his medical labours, 
however, he had met with some traces of 
gratitude. On taking a box of ointment 
and presenting it to a poor leprous woman, 
who had been accustomed to the exorbi- 
tant charges of native physicians, she 
burst into tears as she saw it, exclaiming, 
" Oh, sir ! this will take much money ! " 

Five literary natives, or spies, as they 
might with equal propriety have been 
termed, were quartered on Dr. Bettel- 
heim. Among these he distributed some 
prayers, translated into Loo-chooan 
from the Chinese of Dr. Morrismi. As 
he gradually acquired the language, be 
resorted to open-air preaching, and pro- 
claimed in the great thoroughfares the 
marvellous works of God, the glad tidings 
of salvation through faith in the blood of 
Christ, freely offered to a lost world. 
Attention was immediately excited. "All 
the passers by," he says, " men, women, 
and children, stopped ; sellers and buyers 
forgot their trade. I have seen coolies 
lay down their burdens, and quietly ^ 
listen ; labourers lean their heads on the 
handle of their rural tools, and rest in 
pensive attention ; roads were rendered 
impassable from the masses of people 
crowded on the space around me." The 
inward ear, however was shut : as John 
Bunyan would have expressed it, ** Dia- 
bolus had still possession of Ear-gate." 
Matters, however, looked promising; even 
the native authorities (not the high- 
minded individuals captain Hall has de- 
scribed, but selfish and tyrannical op- 
pressors) were constrained to admit that 
the missionary " did not come to seek 
his own, seeing he had much and to 
spare." A change was rapidly, how«ver, 
to come over this encouraging state of 

The nominal king of Loo-choo (he 
seems to have been a sort of puppet under 
the influence of the Japanese) having 
died, on the very day of his supposed 
funeral an alteration of feeling on the 
part of the people towards the missionary 
took place. He was assaulted with stones 
and sticks on the open road, and was 
thankful to come off with bruises and 
sores only. Not discouraged, he still 
persevered in preaching: the difficulty 
was now, however, to find an audience. 
The crowds which had formerly waited 
on him were nowhere to be seen. When 
he appeared in the streets, an immediate 



clearance of them took place. ** Fint," 
be writes, *Hhere was a bustle, aruDning 
here and there, a rattling and clapping 
of shutting doors and windows; green- 
grocers deserted their stalls ; labourers 
ceased their work ; crews left their boats ; 
women dragged their children in doors 
-with such haste and fright as to make 
tbem scream out when they saw me again 
afar off." The missionary remonstrated 
to the authorities, but his communications 
were often returned on the ground that 
they contained the name of Jesus. How 
touching! how melancholy! The Sa- 
viour rejected in his messenger! — his 
hands of love stretched out, but no man 
regarding his accents of tender compas- 

To add to the perplexities and troubles 
of the missionary at this time, by far the 
greater portion of his available money, 
amounting to 600 dollars, was stolen 
from him. He suspected his attendants ; 
but, on writing to the authorities, all 
knowledge of the theft was not only 
denied, but its impossibility in a house 
watched by guards was triumphantly 
argued in two long despatches. *' Per- 
fectly cured," he adds, " as I now was of 
the deluding influences •captain Hall's 
narrative had inflicted on my good- 
natured dbposition, I insisted on the 
removal of those whom I had reason to 
consider in-door thieves." 

On going out, he next found that spies 
bad been posted to give notice to the 
pecjple of his approach. On reaching the 
mam-streets, he would find them a com- 
plete wilderness; a grave-like silence 
reigned, as if not a living being dwelt in 
any of the houses. ** 1 was wonderfully 
sustained," he adds, " under these trials. 
I had never before known a case where 
a man, in his sound senses, was made a 
scarecrow, before whom his fellow-men 
flew off in all directions like terror- 
stricken birds. I might, for hours, walk 
up and down a lane by myself; and I 
once tried for a whole week, besieging 
a row of shops from morning to night in 
vain — not a door would open. What 
shall 1 do unto thee, Ephraim ? What 
shall I do unto thee, Lew Chew ? Thus 
I asked myself with the prophet. I knew 
nothing but the gospel would remedy the 
evil. Faith cometh, however, by hearing ; 
and how should they hear, when thus 
driven beyond the reach of the joyful 
sound ? " 

Many men would now have given over 
in despair ; not so, however, the individual 

before us. He adopted a new plan of 
attack, and resolved, as it were,to bombard 
this citadel of Satan. Rolls of portions 
of Scripture and Chinese tracts, addresses 
of a friendly nature — written with great 
labour by himself and his wife — were the 
only missiles he employed. These he 
threw into the open courts of the houses. 
Well — a short time elapses ; he is con- 
gratulating himself on the success of this 
scheme, when one day a large trunk is 
brought to him by the government 
emissaries. He opens it, and finds it, to 
his astonishment, full of his tracts and 
appeals. They had been carefully ga- 
thered up, and returned to him. A 
portion of the good seed, however, doubt- 
less remained behind. 

In March, 1848, a large ship ap- 
proached very closely to the island, as if 
it would cast anchor. The crafty autho- 
rities now began to change their tactics, 
and a polite communication came from 
government, having a verse of poetry at 
the commencement of it, to soothe Dr. 
Bettelheim's tortured feelings : 

The balmy zephyrs, soft and rustling, 
Proclaim the coming of the spring ; 
So may your good self be brisk and happy, 
Fearing no limits to your felicity. 

With the disappearance of the ship, 
however, the poetry and the good-will of 
the Loo-chooans disappeared also. Still 
undaunted in his work, Dr. Bettelheim 
had recourse to new efforts. A body of 
guards, about forty in number, had been 
appointed to watch him, and these, at 
least, he determined should hear the 
gospel. Seeing their superstitious attach- 
ment to slips of written paper, pasted on 
the walls of their apartments, he affixed 
to their rooms passages of Scripture, 
which he knew would not be pulled down 
— the Loo-chooans, like the Chinese, 
venerating paper impressed with cha- 
racters. In order, also, to give them an 
idea of the power of England, and to 
convince them that China and Japan did 
not compose the whole world, he circu- 
lated copies of maps of the two hemi- 
spheres of the globe, colouring all the 
British possessions a bright yellow. The 
Loo-chooans, he knew, would not be 
insensible to a representation of the two 
countries, so different from what their 
own vanity had hitherto pictured. 

Not contented yet. Dr. Bettelheim had 
recourse to a new plan of catching the 
attention of the people, by an appeal to 
their palates. His ingenious efforts must, 



however, be described in his own words : 
<* To the roll of tracts which I eolported 
throueh the streets, I added a good bagful 
of cakes, baked in an oven constructed 
with my own hands (these people cannot 
construct an arch of bricks) ; and those 
who reftised a tract were frequently less 
rigorous towards my cakes, and, perhaps, 
were attracted a little b^ the gorgeous 
flowered-chintz bags which held them. 
Even after my stratagems had been out* 
manoeuvred by the vigilance of the 
enemy, who countermined all my efforts, 
and nobody cared either for my tracts, 
or my bag, or my cakes, a few naked 
sun-browned little ones still remained my 
customers; and observing that the dark 
of the evening gave the spies less play- 
ground, I chose this time to go out into 
nie byways and hedges, where tawny 
children presently hopped to and fVo in 
considerable numbers, of course with the 
natural desire of getting a cake or some 
cash, but now and then they got some- 
thing better — a grain of sweet heavenly 
manna or a shekel out of the sanctuary. 
These children, I hope, felt attached to 
me, and I am sure I patted and fondled 
them with paternal anection. Even long 
after our intercourse must have been 
betrayed and declared illicit, as I easily 
inferred from stones pelting me occa- 
sionally in the dark, I saw them still 
slinking around me till they could safely 
approach and get their sweet trifles : but 
this likewise had to be given up." 

Here the narrative of the missionair 
pauses ; a continuation of it, however, is 
promised in the ''Chinese Repository." 
Our readers will agree with us, that it 
presents a series of most remarkable and 
unwonted trials bravely grappled with 
and contended against. 

We^TUBt, however, that the kind friends 
who projected this mission will not feel 
discouraged by these disappointments. 
Let them remember the long night of 
toil at Tahiti, New Zealand, and other 
places. Do not give up Loo-choo, we 
would earnestly exclaim. It is the key 
to Japan ; and the gospel, introduced 
into the one country, would doubtless 
penetrate the other. Meanwhile, what 
a spectacle is presented in one man alone 
being found to grapple with such masses 
of idolaters. Is there not here a call for 
our young men to devote themselves to 
the help of the Lord? Should not 
Christians, too, who eat the fat and drink 
the sweet of gospel privileges at home, 
be stirred up by such a narrative as the 

above, to throw into the Lord's mission 
treasury their ofibrings of gold and silver ; 
and where that cannot be done, to pour 
out earnest and persevering prayer for 
Loo-choo? W. 


" Thottgli thou wash thee with nitre, and fake 
thee much soap, yet thine iniquity !• marked before 
me, aaith the LonL"— Jbb. ii. SS. 

Tbe nitre or natron (Heb. nether- 
bi>rith) of Scripture materially differs from 
that which the reader will recognise under 
the same name. It was an earthy alkaline 
salty or impure carbonate of soda — ^the 
saltpetre of commerce of modem usage 
-—found in great quantities on the surface 
and shores of the lakes of the Natron 
Valley bordering on Lower Egypt. 

Natron is of two kinds — ^mineral and 
vegetable. The former is produced by 
evaporation. The lakes are a natural bed 
in the desert, supplied by water oozing 
through the earth during the winter. The 
heat of summer evaporates this water, 
leaving an incrustation of about two feet 
in thickness, which is broken by iron 
bars.* These lakes also furnish common 

Natron, when mingled with vinegar or 
any other acid, produces violent efferves- 
cence, f Solomon describes ill-timed joy>> 
fulness as putting natron upon vinegar ; 
it rather irritates than alleviates the sor- 
rows of another. (See Prov. xxv. 20.) 

In many parts of Asia it is used, dis- 
solved in water, for washing, and by mix- 
ture with oil is made into soap.t 'I'he 
inhabitants of Smyrna call it soap-earth. 
The ancient Egyptians employed it for 
preserving dead bodies before embalm- 
ing them. Hasselquist says it was also 
*' used to put into bread, instead of yeast, 
and to wash linen with, instead of soap." 
Soda is still applied to these purposes. 

The word borith is rendered in the Sep- 
tuagint " herb of the washers," in the Vul- 
gate, "herb of the ftiUers." " With respect 
to the herb borith," says M.Goguet, "I 
imagine it Is sal-worth (sal-wort.) This 
plant is very common in Judsea, Syria, 
Egypt, and Arabia. They bum it, and 
pour water upon the ashes. The water 
becomes impregnated with a strong lixi- 

• " Pictorial Bible." 

f Nitre, it is well known, would prodnce no fbr- 
mentatiou ; hence it should be translated natron. 

t For full information concerning the manufac- 
ture of soap, see the monthly f^isitor for January, 



▼ial salt, proper for taking Btains or im- 
purities out of wool or cloth." The pro- 
phet Malachi may refer (iii. 2) to the use 
of the alkali in purifying metals, which 
causes the dross to vitrify. Christ will 
try our faith of what sort it is hy his 

" From time immemorial soap has heen 
made in large Quantities in Syria and 
Palestine, and forms a main article of 
the trading exports. Russell and others 
mention the profusion of ashes brought 
into the cities by the Arabs of the desert ; 
and the moors about Joppa furnish a 
quantity of an inferior kind from the 
Duming of the heath which covers them. 
The vegetable oils which are procured 
from the olives, nuts, and seeds which 
abound in Syria, are very valuable in the 
soap manufacture. Most of the soap 
used in Greece and Egypt is the produce 
of Palestine."* 

Robinson met with a plant near Sinai, 
" from which the Arabs obtain a substi- 
tute for soap, by pounding it when dry 
between stones, and mixing it with the 
water in which they wash their linen. "f 

** A species of salsola or salt- wort grew 
here in great abundance, with very mi- 
nute fleshy leaves surrounding the woody 
branches. It is well known to the coun- 
try people by the Hottentot name of 
ctmna, and is that plant from the ashes 
of which almost all the soap that is used 
in the colony is made. These ashes, 
when carefully burnt and collected, are a 
pure white caustic alkali, a solution of 
which, mixed up with the oily fat of the 
large broad tails of the sheep of the 
colony, and boiled slowly for five or six 
days, takes the consistency and the qua- 
lity of an excellent white soap."t 

Washinorg were very many among the 
Jews. They held to them with great 
pertinacity. And they added supersti- 
tions to the washings prescribed by the 
law, insomuch that our Saviour con- 
demned the extent to which the Phari- 
sees carried these practices. The passage 
in Jeremiah seems to refer to such "divers 
washings," and to point out the only way 
of a sinner's acceptance with God, even 
through a living faith in the blood of 
Jesus Christ, which cleansetli from all 


** My toul, no more attempt to draw 
Thy life and comfort from the law ; 
Flee to the hope the gospel gives, 
The man that trusts the promise lives.*' 

11. Ii. 

• " Scripture Herbal." t " Researches." 

t Barrow's "Africa." 


Lbarming now concealed herself from 
mankind, and the few studious men that 
might here and there be found in the 
cloisters, confined their researches to the 
writings of Augustine or Gregory, and 
their compositions to homilies badly com- 
piled from these works, or the still more 
unprofitable relation of absurd stories 
about relics and miracles. Religion was 
burdened with a multitude of ceremonies 
and forms, pilgrimages and penances, 
from which it never escaped till the 
Reformation; and a popular substitute 
for even that debased kind of religion 
was a superstitious reverence for the 
priesthood, who carefully inculcated that 
their prayers for the sinner were of much 
greater consequence than the sinner's 
prayer for himself. The dense ignorance 
of the clergy themselves may be imagined 
from the fact, that at the councils of 
bishops it was no unustial thing- for the 
signatures appended to the canons to be 
written by one bishop for many, the 
formula in each case running thus: — 
" A. B., bishop of — , having affirmed 
that he is unable to write, I, whose 
name is underwritten, have subscribed 
for him." 

Gloomy, however, as this period is, an 
occurrence took place in it of deep in- 
terest to the people of England. This 
was nothing less than the commencement 
of a practice which paved the way for the 
supremacy of the Roman see over the 
bishops and clergy of Britain. In 668, 
the pontiff Vitalian consecrated to the 
archbishopric of Canterbury one Theodore, 
a native of Tarsus, in Cilicia, but in other 
respects little more like the apostle Paul 
than the rest of his brethren. Theodore 
was a man of considerable learning, and 
brought with him into England a valuable 
library of Greek and Latin authors, 
among which were the poems of Homer. 
He soon established schools for the edu- 
cation of both clergy and lait^, and thus 
gave a slight impulse to learnrog, though 
so slight that Alfred the Great, at his 
accession, could find very few priests 
north of the Humber who were able to 
translate the Latin service into the vulgar 
tongue, and south of the Thames not one. 
Theodore was also a devoted servant of 
the pope, and it took him not long to 
discover that however rapid, almost to a 
miracle, the success of Augustine and his 
followers bad been, there were still many 



irregularities, chiefly in forms and dis- 
cipline, which a faithful son of Rome 
must seek to rectify. Foremost of these 
was the form of the tonsure. Whilst the 
Roman priests wore their hair round the 
temples, in imitation of a crown of thorns, 
they were horror-struck at the clergy of 
Britain, who, according to the custom of 
the eastern church, shaved it from their 
foreheads in the form of a crescent ; and 
Theodore himself, who wore the eastern 
tonsure at the lime of his heing called to 
the primacy, was obliged to wait for four 
months before entering on his functions, 
that his hair might srow so as to be 
shaven in the orthodox, that is, the 
Roman mode. He now endeavoured to 
induce the British clergy to conform in 
this and other respects to the ritual of 
Rome; and in a council convened at 
Hertford in the year 673, he so effectu- 
ally urged his cause, that the bishops 
consented to the canons he had brought 
from Rome, and a complete agreement 
was established with the papal see, both 
in worship and faith. 

Triumphant in obtaining conformity, 
Theodore's next object was to secure 
entire subjection to Rome. He therefore 
asserted his right to the primacy of all 
England, and proceeded to re-arrange 
the dioceses of the north, which belonged 
to Wilfred, archbishop of York. The 
latter, no less servile to the pope, and 
equally bent on personal aggrandize- 
ment, immediately appealed to Rome, 
and the pontiff, perhaps as a reward for 
setting so loyal an example, pronounced 
Wilfred's claim to be just. This practice 
of appealing to the pope as supreme 
arbiter in ecclesiastical disputes became 
more and more common, till the papal 
authority was as paramount in Britain as 
in other parts of the west. — **Live» of the 
Popes" published by the Religious Tract 


The Rev. Dr. Cox, of Brooklyn, at the 
late anniversary of the American Bible 
Society, stated, with thrilling interest, a 
private conversation he had with a 
gentleman of renown (whose name 
he would not mention), just before 
going to his account : *< As for the 
Bible," said the sage, <' it may be 
true; I do not know." "What, then," 
it was asked, " are your prospects t " 
He replied in whispers, which, in- 

deed, were thunders, " Very dark — very 
dark I " 

" But have you no light from the Sun 
of righteousness? Have you done jus- 
tice to the Bible?" 

" Perhaps not," he replied ; " but it is 
now too late — too late ! " 


Thousands of men breathe, move, and 
live — pass off the stage of life, and are 
heard of no more. Why? They did 
not a particle of good in the world, — and 
none were blessed by them ; none could 
point to them as the instruments of their 
redemption ; not a line they wrote, not a 
word they spoke could be recalled, and 
so they perished — their light went out in 
darkness, and they were not remembered 
more than the insects of yesterday. Will 
you thus live and die, O man immortal ! 
Live for something. Do good, and leave 
behind you a monument of virtue that 
the storms of time can never destroy. 
Write your name by kindness, love, and 
mercy, on the hearts of the thousands 
you come in contact with year by year, 
and you will never be forgotten. No, 
your name, your deeds, will be as legible 
on the hearts you leave behind, as the 
stars on the brow of evening. They 
will shine as brightly on the earth as the 
stars of heaven. — I>r» Chalmers, 


The rights of woman — what are they ? 

The right to labour and to pray ; 

The right to watch while others sleep ; 

The right o*er others woes to weep ; 

The right to succour in reverse ; 

The right to bless while others curse; 

The right to love whom others scorn ; 

The right to comfort all that mourn ; 

The right to shed new joy on earth ; 

The right to feel the soul's high worth ; 

The right to lead the soul to God, 

Along the path her Saviour trod — 

The path of meekness and of love, 

The path of faith that leads above, 

The path of patience under wrong, 

The path in which the weak grow 

Such woman's rights — and God will 

And crown their champions with suc- 





Some weeks ago, I had occasion to 
return to town by rail from Liverpool, 
after the transaction of business which 
had called me to the provinces. My only 
companion in the carriage was a gentle- 
man of middle age, active in his move- 
ments, with a sharp, intelligent expression 
of countenance. His style of dress was 
rather foreign than otherwise; but his 
speech showed that he was an English- 
man, though evidently one who had 
spent so much of his time abroad as to 
have lost a little of his native accent. 

Two large boxes, made of thick boards 
carefully fastened with strong nails, and 
bound down with iron hooping, formed 
part of his baggage. The labour of more 
than one porter had been required to lift 
them into the luggage- van ; and the spe- 
cial injunctions as to carefulness in stow- 
ing them away, showed that their contents 
were, in the owner's eyes, of more than 
usual value. 

Nor was it only on starting that the 
traveller's anxiety respecting them was 
shown ; at each stage or so, he availed 
himself of the stoppage of the train, to 
look out of the wmdow in the direction 
of the van where his boxes had been 

We were alone in the carriage, and my 
curiosity was excited by my companion s 
movements. After a stage or two had 
passed, I ventured to break the ice : — 

" Your boxes, sir," I observed, " seem 
to give you some uneasiness. You may 
depend upon it that, on this line of rail- 
way, there is no cause for anxiety respect- 
ing them." 

" Why, sir," said the traveller, politely, 
" my anxiety must appear to you some- 
what exaggerated ; but if you knew the 
long way mese boxes had travelled — on 
mules' backs, over precipices, among rob- 
bers and wild Indians — you would not 
wonder at my wish that they should get 
safe to their destination, when now so 
near it. These boxes, sir, have come 
from one of the most extraordinary places 
in South America — Cerro de Pasco— the 
highest and the bleakest city in the 

** Specie, of course ?" I added, on hear- 
ing South America named. 

" You have conjectured rightly," added 
the traveller ; *' pure silver, with the 
genuine mark ; and heartily glad shall I 
be when I am released from the burden." 

My companion I found communicative 
and intelligent. He proved to be a mer- 

chant returning from abroad after a long 
absence, and had much curious informa- 
tion to detail respecting the silver dis- 
trict of Peru. The time glided swiftly 
away in his company, and I was sorry 
when the last station was reached and 
our parting followed. A few notes of the 
information I received. from him, aided 
by access to other sources of information, 
I have now strung together for my rea- 
der's entertainment. 

Cerro de Pasco is situated in one of the 
wildest districts of Peru, at a point where 
the scener}', from being rich and tropical, 
passes into barrenness and desolation. It 
is 13,673 feet above the level of the sea — 
emphatically the highest city in the world. 
Placed on the confines of perpetual snow, 
the traveller is startled when, in the midst 
of an Alpine wilderness, he descries a 
populous town, numbering 18,000 inha- 
bitants. Silver is the magnet which has 
drawn these masses together; for, amid 
the rude rocks, lie extensive veins of that 
precious ore, and mines to the number of 
some thousands have been opened, per- 
forating the ground like a rabbit warren. 

In many cases these mines are private 
property, and the communications with 
them open into dwelling houses in the 
town itself. As may be imagined, from 
the want of any uniform system of ma- 
nagement, to work in them, or even to 
visit them, is often attended with great 
danger ; and a traveller may congratulate 
himself if he returns from an inspection 
of one of them uninjured. Down a per- 
pendicular shaft, a rusty chain and rope 
form the medium of descent, unless the 
risk is varied by the substitution of rotten 
blocks of wood and loose stones. Sleep 
to a stranger in Cerro de Pasco is no 
easy matter — the clattering of hammers 
on all sides is pretty sure to disturb 

The discovery of these mines, more 
than two hundred years ago, is attributed 
to an Indian having kindled a fire on a 
rock to protect himself from cold. In 
the morning, he was surprised to find the 
stone beneath the ashes melted and turned 
to silver. Communicating the informa- 
tion to his master, further investigation 
brought to light the treasures which lay 
hid below. 

Various circumstances would seem to 
prove that the despised race of Indians 
IS in the present day acquainted with 
valuable mmes of silver, the position of 
which is known only to themielves. " In 
Huancayo there dwelt^" we are told by 



that pleasant traveller Von Tf chudli ** a 
Franciscan monk. He was an inveterate 

S ambler, and involved in pecuniary em- 
anrassments. The Indians in the neieh- 
bourhood were much attached to him, 
and frequently sent him presents of 
cheese, poultry, butter, etc. One day, 
after he nad been a loser at the gaming- 
table, he complained bitterly of his mis- 
fortunes to an Indian, who was his par- 
ticular friend. After some deliberation, 
the Indian observed, that possibly he 
could render him assistance ; and accord- 
ingly on the following evening he brought 
him a large bag full of rich silver ore. 
This present was several times repeated * 
but tne monk, not satisfied, pressed the 
Indian to show him the mine from whence 
the treasure was drawn. The Indian 
consented, and on an appointed night 
he came, accompanied oy two of his 
comrades, to the dwelling of the Francis- 
can. They blindfolded him, and each in 
turn carried him on his shoulders to a 
distance of several leagues into the 
mountain passes. At length they set 
him down, and the bandage being re- 
moved from his eyes, he discovered that 
he was in a small and narrow shaft, and 
surrounded by bright masses of silver. 
He was allowed to take as much as he 
could carry, and, when laden with the 
rich prize, was again blindfolded and 
conveyed home in the same manner as 
he had been brought to the mine. While 
the Indians were conducting him home, 
he hit on the following stratagem. He 
unfastened his rosary, and here and there 
dropped one of the beads, hoping by this 
means to be enabled to trace his way 
back on the following day; but in the 
course of a couple of hours, his Indian 
friend again knocked at his door, and, 
presenting to him a handful of beads, 
said — * Father, you dropped your rosary 
on the way, and I have picked it up.'" 

The wealth yielded by these mines 
may be estimated by some of the anec- 
dotes respecting their produce which are 
still current. In honour of a viceroy who 
was to be godfather to his child, a mine 
proprietor laid the whole of the road from 
his house to where the church was situa- 
ted with silver bars, for the nobleman to 
walk over, and afterwards presented this 
valuable road to his excellency's lady. 
Another mine-owner, having been con- 
demned to death, offered, if the sen- 
tence were delayed execution for sixteen 
months, to pay a daily tribute to the 
govemor of a bar of silver. 

Many articles of manufacture, in other 
countries usually worked in meaner me- 
tals, are in Peru formed of silver. Thii 
is especially the case in all that relates to 
the trapping of horses. Spurs often con- 
tain a pound and a half of this precious 
metal, and a saddle and stirrups will 
sometimes cost 400/. 

The labours of the Indians who toil in 
these mines are of the most exhausting 
character. A dollar a week is what, on 
an average, each man can earn. Brandy, 
or some strong spirit, forms his principal 
enjoyment ; and if he succeeds in earning 
a larger sum, it is foolishly lavished. 
We are told of an Indian who purchased 
a gold watch for 50/. Scarcely had he 
had the glittering trinket in his posses- 
sion a few minutes than, tired of it, he 
threw it away, and dashed it to the 
ground. The Peruvian Indian has no 
desire to provide for the future. Habits 
of improvidence are rooted in htm. The 
bottle constitutes his summum benum of 

The silver, we may observe, is sepa- 
rated from the dross by amalgamation 
with quicksilver, which is commonly 
effected by the trampling of lujrses. The 
quicksilver soon destroys the hoofs of the 
poor animals. In other mines Indians, 
barefooted, perform this operation ; and 
paralysis and other diseases are the con- 

Many of the Indian labourers, when 
not at work, betake themselves to the 
roads for plunder. Concealed amid 
rocks, they wound, and oflen kill the 
unsuspecting passenger, by stones hurled 
from their slings. Woe betide the tra*^ 
veller, possessed of property, who ventures 
to seek refuge within some of the native 
huts near Cerro de Pasco. His life 
would probably pay the forfeit of his 

The silver, when made into bars, is 
committed to the charge of mule- drivers, 
who convey it to Lima, where it is either 
coined or snipped to other countries. As 
no mint exists at Cerro de Pasco, a supply 
of dollars has to be sent back to that 
city. These supplies are often attacked 
by bands of robbers, with which the coun- 
try abounds. Occasionally they are so 
numerous, that government finds it a 
matter of policy to form them into a 
regiment of soldiers. Nothing can be 
more repulsive than the appearance of 
such a regiment. " A troop of them," we 
are told, " is a picturesque, but at the same 
time a very fearful sight. Their black, 



yellow, and olive-coloured facesj seared 
by scars, and expressive of every evil 
passion and savage feeling— their motley 
and tattered garments — present a picture 
bold and disorderly in the extreme. On 
their entrance into a city, the terrified 
inhabitants close their doors ; the passer- 
by gallops into the first open one he can 
£nd, and in a few minutes the streets are 
cleared, and no sound is heard but the 
galloping of robbers' horses." 

John Bunyan has introduced Demas 
as pressing Christian to turn aside from 
his course, and look at his silver mine. In 
our own day, a thirst for mining operations 
is taking with some the place of a recent 
railway mania. A glance at Cerro de 
Pasco would, therefore, not be without 
its use, if it convinced any how far mor6 
certainly, both with nations and indi- 
viduals, industry and God's blessing tend 
to prosperity than speculative pursuits. 
This lesson we think it tloea teach. 

A proverb exists in Spain, that a cop- 
per urine may enrich a man ; that a silver 
one may enable him to get a living ; but 
that a gold one will beggar him. In 
Cerro de Pasco the mine proprietors live, 
we are told, in an almost continued state 
of embarrassment,— raising money by 
loans from capitalists at the rate of one 
hundred per cent. They are speculative 
and idle, — going on in extravagance, — 
hoping for a lucky hit by falling on a 
looe of silver more than usually pro- 
ductive. Closely connected, too, with 
this spirit of speculation, is their taste 
for gambling ; — cards and dice are ever 
in demand amongst them. £. V. 


Cotton Mather, giving an account 
of the war which the Indians commenced 
against New England, in the year 1675, 
thus relates what took place in Hadley, 
1676 : — '* On June 12th, seven hundred 
Indians made an assault upon Hadley ; 
but they were driven oflf with much loss 
to them, and very small to ourselves." 
Seven hundred Indians were an immense 
force against a small infant town, such as 
Hadley then was. But the people had 
extraordinary help. 

I will relate the circumstances, as my 
recollection of what I have read some 
years since will enable me to do. 

The people of Hadley were assem- 
bled in their meeting-house, when an 
unknown, venerable-looking man pre- 

sented himself, gave warning that the 
Indians were coming upon them, and 
then disappeared. 

The people did what they could to 
repel their savage assailants, but they 
were overpowered by numbers, and 
began to give way. At this most critical 
moment their venerable friend appeared 
again, and, with a commanding air and 
authority, rallied them, and directed 
their movements, until their savage foe 
was repulsed. He then vanished from 
their sight. 

The people were, of course, greatly 
affected by the seasonable interposition 
of such a helper. But who was he? 
Where did he come from? Where did 
he go to? What did the minister, Mr. 
Russell, think about it ? They obtained 
no satisfactory information on the sub- 
ject; and they piously concluded that 
God had sent an angel from heaven to 
deliver them. In this conclusion they 
long rested. 

But Mr. Russell knew all about the 
matter. He had received secretly into 
his family, and had harboured there, 
Goffe and Whalley, two men who had 
sat as judges in the court in England 
which condemned Charles i. to be be- 
headed. One of these men had been a 
colonel under Cromwell ; and now dis- 
covering the Indians from Mr. Russell's 
house, he had given the alarm ; and 
seeing the people giving way, he came 
forth to rally them, and as soon as pos- 
sible retired to his covert. 

There was as much wisdom, power, 
and goodness in this interposition, as 
thou^ an angel had actually come from 
heaven to save God's people. 


Poor Hortense ! most wonderful were 
the vicissitudes of her chequered and joy- 
less life. We first meet ner, almost an 
infant, in poverty and obscurity, on ship- 
board, passing from France to the West 
Indies, with her mother and her little 
brother. Josephine is but little over 
twenty years of age, broken-hearted and 
hopeless, abandoned by her husband, 
who, embracing the doctrines of French 
infidelity, had plunged into all the depths 
of licentiousness. At length, the husband 
and father relents, and entreats his wife 
to return, and we meet Josephine again 
upon the ocean with her two children. 
She is poor and scantily clad. Little 



Hortense is barefooted, and a kind sailor 
charitably cuts down a pair of his old 
ehoes to fit her tiny feet — '* a present," 
said Josephine, when seated upon the 
throne of France, " which gave me more 
pleasure than any other I ever received." 
They arrived in Paris in the morning of 
that reign of terror, the story of which 
has made the ear of humanity to tingle. 
The father of Hortense bled under the 
guillotine ; her mother was plunged into 
a dungeon ; and this poor child, with her 
brother £ugene, was left in friendlessness 
and beggary in the streets of Paris. A 
charitable neighbour sheltered and fed 
them . Her mother was liberated, became 
the wife of Napoleon, and was surrounded 
with dazzling splendour, such as the 
Caesars never rivalled. We now meet 
Hortense, radiant in vouthful beauty, one 
of the most admired and courted m the 
midst of the glittering throng, which, like 
a fairy vision, dazzles all eyes in the 
gorgeous apartment of Versailles and St. 
Cloud. Her person is adorned with the 
most costly fabrics, and the most brilliant 
gems which Europe can afford. The 
nobles and princes of the proudest courts 
vie with each other for the honour of her 
hand. She is led to her sumptuous bridals 
by the brother of the emperor ; becomes 
the spouse of a king, and takes her seat 
upon the throne of Holland. But in the 
midst of all this external splendour, she is 
wretched at heart. Not one congenial 
feeling unites her with the companion to 
whom she is bound. Louis, weary of 
regal pomp and constraint, abdicates the 
throne ; and Hortense, weary of her pen- 
sive and unambitious spouse, abandons 
him. They agree to separate, each to 
journey along, unattended by the other, 
the remainder of life's pilgrimage. Hor- 
tense seeks a joyless refuge in a Swiss 
valley. The tornado of a counter-revolu- 
tion sweeps over Europe, and all her 
exalted friends and towering hopes are 
prostrated in the dust. Lingering years 
of disappointment and sadness pass over 
her, and old age, with its infirmities, 
deposits her upon a dying bed. One only 
child (now the President of the French 
Republic), the victim of corroding ambi- 
tion, and of ceaselessly-gnawing discon- 
tent, stands at her bed-side to close her 
eyes, and to follow her, a solitary and 
lonely mourner, to the grave. The dream 
of life has passed. The shadow has 
vanished away. Who can fathom the 
mystery of the creation of such a 
drama ? 


Men seldom lose anything for want of 
asking here on earth, although they often 
ask and get nothing. I invite young 
men to remember this in the matter of 
their souls. I invite them to ask of Him 
who giveth to all liberally. I invite 
them, wherever they are, to pray. 

Prayer is the life-breath of a man's 
soul. Without it we may have a name 
to live, and be counted Christians ; but 
we are dead in the sight of God. The 
feeling that we must cry to God for 
mercy and peace is a mark of grace, 
and the habit of spreading before Him 
our soul's wants is an evidence that we 
have the Spirit of adoption. And prayer 
is the appointed way to obtain the relief of 
our spiritual necessities, — it opens the trea- 
sury, and sets the fountain flowing, — and 
if we have not, it is because we ask not. 

Prayer is the way to procure the out- 
pouring of the Spirit upon our hearts. 
Jesus has promised the Holy Ghost, the 
Comforter. He is ready to come down 
with all his precious gifts, renewing, sanc- 
tifying, purifying, strengthening, cheer- 
ing, encouraging, enlightening, teachings 
directing, guiding into all truth. But 
then He waits to be entreated. 

And here it is — I say it with sorrow — 
here it is, that men fall short so miserably. 
Few indeed are to be found who pray, — 
many who go down on their knees, and 
say a form perhaps, — but few who pray ; 
—few who cry unto God, — few who call 
upon the Lord, — few who seek as if they 
wanted to find, — few who knock as if 
they hungered and thirsted, — few who 
wrestle, — few who strive with God ear- 
nestly for an answer, — ^few who give Him 
no rest, — few who continue in prayer, — 
few who watch unto prayer, — few who 
pray always without ceasing, and faint 
not. Yes I few pray. It is just one of 
the things assumed as a matter of course, 
but seldom practised ; — a thing which is 
everybody's business, but in fact hardly 
anybody performs. 

Young men, believe me, if your soul is 
to be saved, you must pray. God has no 
dumb children. If you are to resist the 
world, the flesh, and the devil, you must 
pray : — it is vain to look for strength in 
the hour of trial, if it has not been sought 
for. You may be thrown with those who 
never do it, — you may have to sleep in 
the same room with some one who never 
asks anything of God, — ^still, mark my 
words, you must pray. 



I can quite believe you find great diffi- 
culties about it) — difficulties about oppor- 
tunities, and seasons, and places. I dare 
not lay down too positive rules on such 
points as these. I leave them to your 
own conscience. You must be guided by 
circumstances. Our Lord Jesus Christ 
prayed on a mountain ; Isaac prayed in 
the fields ; Hezekiah turned his face to 
the wall as he lay upon his bed ; Daniel 
prayed by a river side ; Peter, the apostle, 
on the hoi? e-top. I have heard of young 
men praying- in stables and hay-lofts* 
All that I contend for is this, you must 
know what it is to ** enter into your 
closet," Matt. vi. 6. There must be 
stated times when you must speak with 
God, face to face, — ^you must every day 
have your seasons for prayer. You must 

Without this all advice and counsel is 
useless. This is that piece of spiritual 
armour which Paul names last in his 
catalogue, in Ephesians vi., but it is in 
truth first in value and importance. This 
is that meat which you must daily eat, if 
you would travel safely through the wil- 
derness of this life. It is only in the 
strength of this that you will get onward 
towards the mount of God. I have heard 
it said that the needle-grinders of Shef- 
field sometimes wear a magnetic mouth- 
piece at their work, which catches all the 
fine dust that flies around them, prevents 
it entering their lungs, and so saves their 
lives. Prayer is the mouth-piece that 
you must wear continually, or else you 
will never work on uninjured by the 
unhealthy atmosphere of this sinful world. 
You must pray. 

Young men, be sure no time is so well 
spent as that which a man spends upon 
biji knees. Make time for this, whatever 
your employment may be. Think of 
David, king of all Israel : what does he 
Bay? — *< Evening, and morning, and at 
noon, will I pray, and cry aloud : and He 
shall hear my voice," Psa. Iv. 17. Think 
of Daniel. He had all the business of a 
kingdom on his hands ; — yet he prayed 
three times a day. See there the secret 
of his safety in wicked Babylon. Think 
of Solomon. He begins his reign with 
prayer for help and assistance, and hence 
bis wonderful prosperity. Think of Ne- 
hemiah. He could find time to pray to 
the God of heaven, even when standing 
in the presence of his master, Artaxerxes. 
Think of the example these godly men 
have left you, and go and do likewise. — 
Bn\ J. C. Byle, 


During the revolutionary troubles of 
the year 1848, a band of robbers had 
established themselves in the great manu- 
facturing town of Lyons, in the south of 
France. They were rough fellows, with 
faces that looked fit only for the gallows, 
and hearts hard as the street paving of 
the town. To judge from their appear- 
ance, they would think no more of taking 
away a man's life than of blowing out a 
rushlight. But nothing prospers in this 
world without some sort of government, 
and these robbers knew it; so they chose 
one of their number for a captain, and in 
this case it was the one most accomplished 
in all kinds of robbery and murder. And 
then they raised their hands to heaven 
and swore, that none of them would ever 
leave or betray the band, and that if any 
should nevertheless break the oath, the 
rest would pursue and kill him. And 
now they went forth to plunder and 
murder, and all the people of the neigh- 
bourhood, who besides their heads had 
temporal goods to lose, were full of terror 
and dismay. 

At this time there was assembled in 
Lyons another band, which, like these 
robbers in the forest, sent out their mes- 
sengers in every direction, and so hunted 
after all sorts of people. And where these 
messengers appeared, many a one has 
trembled. It is true they were not 
armed like the robbers with pistols, and 
such murderous weapons, but out of their 
wallets peeped large and small books; 
and when the messengers read out of 
them, it was to many a listener as if a 
two-edged sword pierced through his 
soul. For in the books was much 
written about the holy God, who brings 
sinners before his tribunal, and about the 
Saviour Jesus Christ, who so mercifully 
takes upon himself the sins of those who 
heartily repent and seek forgiveness from 

One of the missionaries of this society 
resolved one day to go into the forest to 
the robbers ; not, indeed, that he might 
become one of them, but, with the help 
of God, to put an end to their unrighteous 
profession. It was truly a dangerous 
thing to do, and I really begin to tremble 
when I think how the lawless fellows in 
the forest yonder will handle the poor 
man. He might well think about it too ; 
but God had given him a brave heart, so 

• From the Berlin "Neuette Nachriehten au9 dem 
Reiche GoUet," December, 1850. 



that he didn't trouhle himself ahout it 
further than to say to himself that at most 
they could only destroy his body, but 
were not able to kill his soul. "l{ I 
fall," he thought, **1 shall go straight to 
heaven, and there it is far better than in 
this poor world, especially in France. 
And would not my life be amply repaid 
if, by the word of God, the soul of one of 
these robbers should be saved ?" So he 
filled his wallet with Bibles, and stepped 
away bravely into the wood. Soon he 
was lost in the thicket, and, after a few 
miles, he came upon the outposts of the 

'* Who goes there?'' cried a rough voice, 
which seemed to pierce our Bible dis- 
tributor through bone and marrow. Soon 
several horribles-looking forms came out 
of the thicket, surrounded the adventur- 
ous intruder, and scrutinized him with 
curious looks. He had, meanwhile, re- 
covered courage to meet their wild, scorn- 
ful faces. 

"What brings you here, fellow?" cried 
the robbers. 

''I come," replied he, with a firm 
voice, '*to bring you the word of God, 
and to warn you from the path of ruin, 
before the judgment of God breaks over 

A wild, fiendish laugh interrupted the 
address. "Ha! ha! ha!" cried the 
comrades, " this is a capital fellow, and 
a good roast for our captain ! There you 
can finish your sermon. It's just what 
he likes, and he'll reward you for it. 
Pack up your books ; over yonder you'll 
do more business! March! On with 

With these words they thrust him for- 
ward, and brought him to their captain. 
At the sight of such a body of ruffians, 
playing with their muskets as if they 
were toy guns, the stoutest heart might 
have quailed ; but our man of God stood 

"What do you want, fellow?" asked 
the captain, haughtily. 

" I come to bring you the word of God," 
replied the missionary, firmly. 

" Do you know who we are? Do you 
know us?" he asked again. 

"Certainly, I know you," was the 
answer. " You are the wickedest of the 
wicked, the most daring of sinners. You 
are the terror of the neighbourhood; but 
the anger of God will burst over you, and 
destroy you before you think it. He is a 
righteous God, and will not leave the 
wicked unpunished." 

As before, the fearless speaker was sow 
interrupted by a burst of laughter. A 
flood of sneers and curses was poured on 
him, but he did not allow himself to be 
disturbed, and only raised his voice the 

"Repent!" he cried; "even for you 
there is mercy and forgiveness ; even for 
you is the Saviour, the Son of God, come, 
if you repent, and be converted. Now is 
the time. His love has sent me here; 
the arms of his love are opened to you." 
The wild laughter was stilled, but instead 
of it a low murmur was heard. The wild 
eyes glared with rage ; involuntarily they 
pointed their muskets at the daring mil- 
sionary ; but a glance from the captain, 
and he would have paid for his boldneu 
with his life. But the eye of God 
watched over him, and his courage wsb 

" Do you know," shouted the captain, 
" that your life is in our hands ?" 

" Without God's permission you cannot 
touch a hair of my head," replied the 
missionary, raising his warning and ex- 
horting voice still louder, and distributing 
his Bibles right and left. By degrees the 
murmur was hushed. The robbers began 
even to show respect to the courageous 
man . Many a heart might have trembled 
at that moment, but the devil had bound 
their chains too firmly. They had taken 
that fearful oath, never to leave the band. 
It could be broken only by death. Pre- 
sently the captain exclaimed, " Take the 
man away, but do him no harm!" He 
was obeyed, and, with oaths and curses, 
they led him out of the wood ; and he, 
praising God in his heart, made the best 
of his way back to Lyons. 

Now many of my readers may think 
the Bible distributor might have spared 
himself his troublesome journey, for the 
robbers will be robbers still. Have 
patience ! The word of God never re- 
turns empty, but will accomplish what- 
ever he pleases. But to proceed. 

The captain had himself received a 
New Testament, and, as he was one day 
strolling through the wood, he took the 
book out of his pocket and read it, to pass 
away the time. He was astonished at 
what he saw there, and he read on and 
on. He had never heard such things 
before. His conscience was awakened, 
and the life he had led appeared darker 
and darker to his mind. He became 
uneasy. Every day he separated from 
his comrades, and wandered about the 
wood. To them such conduct appeared 



lomewhat BUBpieiaiiti and they began to 
whisper amoDg themselyei. But hie be- 
eame every day more alive to the misery 
of his sins ; the judgment of God was to 
him fearful, and the love of Christ burned 
in his hard heart : he could no longer 
belong to the band. But how could he 
leave it? Should he run away? Now 
we should not think it wrong, but our 
captain would not break his oath, even 
with robbers. For a long time he 
struggled thus with himself; but at last 
be assembled the band. They hastened 
together, in the hope that he was going 
to lead them out again on some profitable 
expedition. But they were not a little 
astonished when the captain addressed 
them as follows : — 

"Comrades!" he cried, "hitherto I 
have been your leader : henceforth I am 
•0 no more. This book here has shown 
me that we are on the way to ruin. A 
fearful oath bound me to you; but my 
resolution is taken. I am in your hands. 
If you wish to kill me, you can do it ; 
but never again can I bring myself to lead 
the eursed life of a robber !" 

In mute astonishment the comrades 
listened to their leader. A murmur of 
rage ran through the company, but soon 
anger gave place to sympathy. After 
long consultation, they came to the de- 
termination of letting the captain go 
quietly away. Once more he raised his 
warning voice to his old companions, re- 
minded them of the wrath of God, whose 
commandments they bad broken, and of 
the great love of the Redeemer if they 
repented, and urged them earnestly to 
quit with him their life of sin. The 
leaven worked. Soon afterwards the band 
broke up. Many of its members followed 
their captain, and were converted; and 
the society which first sent their mission- 
ary into the wood has received several of 
them into its office, as companions of its 
labours. S. W. B. 


The distribution, during a heavy ac- 
tion, of gunpowder throughout — say a 
120-gun ship — requires so many precau- 
tions, that it would be impracticable even 
briefly to enumerate them. As soon as 
the drum beats to action, there is hastily 
rigeed up in the middle of each deck — 
and consequently between decks — what, 
at first sight, appears to be a large flannel 
phantom, with two short arms or fins, one 

drawn inwards and the other projecting 
outwards. Within this shapeless " screen*^' 
— concealed from view, and consequently 
from sparks of fire — there are stationed one 
or two trusty men, whose duty it is to deli- 
ver to the running powder-men, through 
the flannel sleeve which is turned out- 
wards, a series of cartridges as fast as 
they are handed up from below, and, pgr 
cantrai to receive through the flannel 
sleeve which is turned inwards the lea- 
thern buckets which require to be reple- 
nished; and certainly it is impossible, 
even for a moment, to contempmte this 
operation without reflecting what a strange 
position it is for any human being to 
occupy ; for, although he can see nothing 
whatever of what is going on, he is ae 
much exposed to be shot as those who, 
within a few feet of him, are flgfating the 

The two magazines (one fore and the 
other aft) from which the powder, under 
the direction of a mate or midshipman, 
is, with innumerable precautions, handed 
up, and then, through the phantom, deli- 
vered on deck, are lighted by external 
powerful lamps, which, glaring through 
two thick glass bulls'-eyes, cast a sort of 
pale moonlight on him whose duty it is, 
amidst the roar of cannon vomiting forth 
fire and fury, calmly at intervals to watch 
the black hands of a white dial by his 
side, upon which are inscribed the words 
"distant," "full," "reduced," "stop," 
and, in obedience thereto, to select and 
hand out seriatim the different descrip- 
tions of cartridges required for the three 
ranges above indicated ; and thus, al- 
though far below the surface of the ocean 
— out of the reach of all shot, and secluded 
from his thousand messmates — he can 
guess probably more accurately than most 
of them his distance from the enemy. The 
various cartridges over which he presides 
are respectively taken from zinc boxes, 
which, arranged in tiers separated by 
passages like those in a wine-cellar, are 
so hermetically closed that if, in case of 
fire, it should suddenly be deemed neces- 
sary to drown the magazine, the water, 
it is said, would flood them without wet- 
ting the powder, which would be again 
fit for action as soon as, through another 
stop-cock, the fluid had been turned off 
into the hold. 

The cost for powder alone, of a single 
discharge of the armament of a line-of- 
battle ship of 120 guns, is upwards of 
20/. The cost for powder alone of 
the firing of a morning and evening 



gun ezceeds 100/. a year. — Sir F, B, 


A tupiNE indolence, and a profound 
ignorance upon all subjects most dear to 
man in his social state, are .the necessary 
results of Popery. Agriculture, and 
every branch of rural economy, sink into 
a state of deplorable degradation. Such 
is yet nearly the condition of the most 
beautiful provinces of Naples, Rome, 
Spain, and Portugal, where miserv, fana- 
ticism, immorality, and all the kindred 
vices which naturally spring up amongst 
people in such circumstances, are deeply 

On the contary, what activity, what 
perfection in rural economy and manage- 
ment strikes the observation of the be- 
holder, amidst the cold and inhospitable 
fields of Scotland, in Great Britain, and 
in Holland! There a new creation 
seems to have sprung up under the hand 
of man ; because they labour for them- 
selves, Industry is powerful, because it is 
free, and directed by an education suit- 
able to the condition of the people. 

The contrast between the indubitable 
effects of the two religions is most evident 
throughout Germany and in Switzerland, 
where the territorial lines of the respec- 
tive states, crossing each other frequently, 
cause the traveller to pass in a moment 
from a Catholic to a Protestant country. 
Who has not been struck with the un- 
thrifliness which almost universally pre- 
vails in Roman Catholic countries, con- 
trasting so strongly with the great 
prosperity of countries in the North ; with 
Holland and with. England ? No one can 
be ignorant to what an odious and revolt- 
ing excess mendicity exists in most papal 
communities; how sensibly it increases 
as you approach the centre of catholi- 
city, until finally it reaches its acme in 
Rome itself. In short, whoever has seen 
many Catholic and Protestant cities, must 
have remarked the immense difference 
between them in this respect. When the 
traveller meets with miserable hamlets, 
covered with straw, the peasants dejected, 
debased, and almost forced to beggary, 
he runs little risk of being deceived in 
concluding that he is in a Catholic state : 
if, on the contrary, he beholds neat and 
smiling dwellings, affording the appear- 
ance of ease and industry, fields well 
cultivated, and the cultivation widely 

extended, it is highly probable that he is 
amongst Protestants. 

If we pass from the culture of the 
earth to that of the mind, Switzerland 
presents the same contrariety between the 
two religions. How many men of science 
and literature do we claim who have been 
turned out from the schools of Geneva ! 
Berne, Lucerne, Basle, Zurich, and Schaff- 
hausen, have their literary annals filled 
with names deservedly known to fame ; 
whilst Catholic Switzerland has not pro- 
duced one single man eminent in any 
department of science. 

We may remark further, that the jour- 
nals and periodicals of Protestant coun- 
tries are much more grave and intellec- 
tual than similar publications in Spain or 
Italy, or those of France previous to 

Compare, too, the universities of Eng- 
land, Holland, Scotland, and Germany, 
with those of Italy and Spain, and we 
advance no paradox when we assert, that 
there is more real learning in one such 
university as Gottenburg, Helmstadt, 
Halle or Jena, than in all the universi- 
ties of Spain united. The difference 
between the Catholic and the Protestant 
universities in Germany is so striking, 
that a stranger travelling in that country, 
and passing from the former into the 
latter, would think that he had in one 
hour passed over four hundred leagues, 
or lived through a space of four hundred 
years. He who passes from Salamanca to 
Cambridge, passes at once from the era of 
Scotus to that of Newton. Appropriately 
does a writer, once a Roman Catholic, 
remark, *< The spirit which made Galileo 
recant upon his knees his discoveries in 
astronomy, still compels popish professors 
to teach the Copernican system as an 
hypothesis. Astronomy must ask the 
inquisitor's leave to see with her own 
eyes. Geography was long compelled to 
shrink before them. Divines were made 
the judges of Columbus* plan of dis- 
covery, as well as appointed to allot a 
species to the Americans. A spectre 
monk haunts the geologist in the lowest 
cavities of the earth ; and one of flesh 
and blood watches the philosopher on 
its surface. Anatomy is suspected and 
watched closely whenever it takes up the 
scalpel ; and medicine has many a pang 
to endure, while endeavouring to expunge 
inoculation and the use of bark from the 
catalogue of mortal sins/' Popery, in short, 
chains down the human mind wherever 
it gains an ascendant influence. R* 


Hi VI HO travelled some ten miles from 
Naples, we leave the nea on the right, 
ind find ourAelvcB in a tract of country 
bearing quite a rural aspect. " Here 
and there," aa;a a touriit, "ve pais the 
callage of a humble vine-dreaser or 
farmer; now we turn round a cluster of 
mvl berrf -trees ; and finally, in the midst 
of at great a degree of solitude as one 
meets with in the heart of the country, 
and without any kind of warning, we find 
ooiselves all at once walking on the 

Kvement of a city — a city of the dead — 

Buried for a considerable period, its 
Hie wu only traditionally known to be in 
Campania, till, in 1748, while some ckcb- 
vaCions were going' on, its remains were 
accidentally discovered. The circum- 
stiuieei which brought about so great a 
disaster aa tbe destruction of the city are 
loo well known to require detuled de- 
seription. It may be observed, however, 

M*T, 1851. 

that Pompeii, originally on the sea-shore, 
ia now one mile distant; this striking 
change being the result of volcanic action. 
In the reign of Titua, a.d. 79, Vesuvius, 
which had been sleeping for ages, burst 
forth in great fury, spreading desolation 
around. For eight days and nights this 
mountain poured forth showers of stones 
and ashes, mingled with streams of mud 
and hot water, burying tbe cities of 
Stafajie, HercuUneum, and Pompeii be- 
neath beds of tuff and lapilli, and shutting 
up in darkness their works of art. 

Thus for eighteen centuries Pompeii 
was entombed. Its disentombment began 
in 1755, There has been brought to light 
an ample fund of entertainment for the 
curious investigator. Here the antiqua- 
rian rambler may perambulate, and be- 
hold the ruins of works of art, thopa and 
houses, the foium, temples, a bathine- 
establishment, courts of justice, with the 
vaulted prison beneath them. E^Mim these 
he learns much with reference to Roman 
social life. 



Some remarkable facta are related with 
reference to some who perished in the 
ruins. There was found in the villa 
called the House of Diomedes, the skeleton 
of a female, with the remains of bracelets, 
rings, and jewels on her person. This 
person was evidently a lady, and probably 
mistress of the establishment ; and " near 
to this villa, it is said, the body of a man 
had been found, grasping bags of money 
and keys in his haadi, as if struek down 
in the effort to escape with these valu- 

One individual, with her son, perished 
on tbis occasion, the mention of whose 
name excites in the Christian's heart 
some feelings of interest<-«the Jewess 
Drusilla, wife of Felix, of whom it is said 
that ** he sent for Paul, and heard him 
concerning the faith in Christ* And as 
he reasoned of righteousnessi temperance, 
and judgment to come, Felix trembled, 
and answered, Go thy way for this time ; 
when I have a convenient season I wUl 
call for thee," Acts xxiv. 24, 25. May 
the sudden destruction which removed 
his wife from the world, prove • salutary 
warning to us to receive the message of 
mercy through faith in a crucified Re- 
deemer while it Is presented to us, seeing 
no man kuoweth the day or manner of 
his death ! 

The engraving at the head of our 
article represents the Temple of Isis, 
which is thus described by a visitor to 
the excavated city: — '* One group of 
ruins, in good preservation, was pomted 
out to us as being all that remained of the 
Temple of Isis — a building in the Roman 
Doric order, possessing some fine mosaics. 
At the further extremity of the interior 
stood the altar, from wnich a statue of 
Isis had been removed when the building 
was uncovered. We were conducted into 
some apartments behind, and were here 
shown a recess, where the priests of the 
temple were concealed when they uttered 
the oracular responses supposed to be 
pronounced by the goddess. The accom- 
modations for the priests had been on an 
extensive scale, and included cooking, 
dining, and sleeping apartments. When 
the kitchen was explored, it was found 
well provided with cooking utensils and 
different articles of food. The skeleton 
of a man, supposed to have been the 
cook, was found in the kitchen, with an 
axe in his hand, near a hole in the wall, 
which he had made in order to effect his 
escape. In the temple, the skeleton of a 
priest had been also found, with a bag of 

money in his hand. His avarice or care- 
fulness, in remaining to secure the trea- 
sures of the temple, had been the cause 
of his destruction." 

And as at Pompeii, so shall it be one 
day with a sinful world. The numbered 
hour is on the wing, when the trumpet of 
the archangel shall proclaim the termina- 
tion of man's abused period of probation. 
That solemn blast will penetrate the 
haunts of commerce and of busy enter- 
prise. The merchant, the speculator, the 
student, the statesman, the monarch, and 
the peasant must alike listen to it. Nor 
will there be any place for retreat. Oh 
how wise, then—now, while the Saviour 
invites — to flee to him, as the appointed 
refuge, so as to be sheltered within his 
robe of righteousness, when the terrors of 
the Lord are revealed to a guilty world ! 



This fkr^lkmed rock arises on the top 
of a bold promontory of granite, jutting 
fkr out into the sea, split into the wildest 
forms, and towering precipitously to a 
height of a hundred feet. When you reach 
the jLoggan Stone, after some little climb- 
ing up perilous-looking places, you see a 
eolld irregular mass of granite, which is 
computed to weigh eighty-five tons, rest- 
ing by its centre only, on a flat broad rock, 
which, in its turn, rests on several others 
stretching out around it on all sides. You 
are told by the guide to turn your back 
to the uppermost stone ; to place your 
shoulders under one particular part of its 
lower edfi^e, which is entirely discon- 
nected, all round, with the supporting 
rock below ; and in this position to push 
upwards slowly and steadily, then to 
leave off again for an instant, then to 
push once more, and so on, until after a 
few moments of exertion, you feel the 
whole immense mass above you moving 
as you press against it. You redouble 
your efforts, then turn round and see the 
massy Loggan Stone, set in motion by 
nothing but your own pair of shoulders, 
slowly rocking backwards and forwards 
with an alternate ascension and declen- 
sion, at the outer edges, of at least three 
inches I You have treated eighty-five 
tons of granite like a child's cradle; and, 
like a child's cradle, those eighty-five 
tons have rocked at your will I 

The pivot on which the Loggan Stone 
is thus easily moved is a small protrusion 
at its base, on all sides of which the 



whole surrounding weight of rock is, bv 
an accident of nature, so exactly equal- 
ized as to keep its poise in the nicest 
balance on the one little point in its lower 
surface, which rests on the flat granite 
slab beneath. But perfect as this balance 
appears at present, it has lost something, 
the merest hair's-breadth, of its original 
faultlessness of adjustment. The rock is 
not to be bioved now, either so easily or 
so much as it could once be moved. Six- 
and-twenty years since, it was overthrown 
by artificial means, and was then lifted 
again into its former position. This is 
the story of the affair, as it was related 
to me by a man who was an eye-witness 
of the process of restoring the stone to its 
proper place. 

In the year 1824, a certain lieutenant 
in the royal navy, then in command of a 
cutter stationed off the southern coast of 
Cornwall, was told of an ancient Cornish 
prophecy, that no human power should 
ever succeed in overturning the Loggan 
Stone. No sooner was the prediction 
communicated to him, than he conceived 
a morbid ind mischievous ambition to 
falsify practically an assertion which the 
commonest common sense might have 
informed him had sprung from nothing 
but popular error and popular supersti- 
tion. Accompanied by a body of picked 
men from his crew, he ascended to the 
Loggan Stone, ordered several levers to 
be placed under it at one point, gave the 
word to *' heave," and the next moment 
had the miserable satisfaction of seeing 
one of the most remarkable natural curi- 
osities in the world utterly destroyed, for 
aught he could foresee to the contrary, 
under his own directions I 

But fortune befriended the Loggan 
Stone. One edge of it, as it rolled over, 
became fixed by a lucky chance in a cre- 
vice in the rocks immediately below the 
granite slab from which it had been 
started. Had this not happened, it must 
have fallen over a sheer precipice, and 
been lost in the sea. By another acci- 
dent, equally fortunate, two labouring 
men, at work in the neighbourhood, were 
led by curiosity secretly to follow the 
lieutenant and his myrmidons up to the 
itone. Having witnessed, from a secure 
hiding-place, all that occurred, the two 
workmen, with great propriety, inunedi- 
ately hurried off to inform the lord of the 
manor of the wanton act of destruction 
they had seen perpetrated. 

The news was soon communicated 
throughout the district, and thence 

throughout all Cornwall. The indigna- 
tion of the whole country was clroused. 
Antiquaries, who believed the Loggan 
Stone to have been balanced by the 
Druids ; philosophers, who held that it 
was produced by an eccentricity of na- 
tural formation; ignor&nt people, who 
cared nothing about Druids, or natural 
formations, but who liked to climb up 
and rock the stone whenever they passed 
near it ; tribes of guides, who lived by 
showing it; innkeepers in the neigh- 
bourhood, to whom it had brought cus- 
tomers by hundreds; tourists of every 
degree, who were on their way to see it 
— all joined in one general clamour of 
execration against the overthrower of the 
rock: A full report of the affair was 
forwarded to the Admiralty ; and the 
Admiralty, for once, acted vigorously for 
the public advantage, and mercifully 
spared the public purse. 

The lieutenant was ofiicially informed 
that his commission was in danger, un- 
less he set up the Loggan Stone again in 
its proper place. The materials for com- 
passing this achievement were offered to 
him, gratis, from the dockyards ; but he 
was left to his own resources to defray 
the expense of employing workmen to 
help him. Being by this time awakened 
to a proper sense of the mischief he had 
done, and to a tolerably strong conviction 
of the disagreeable position in which he 
was placed with the Admiralty, he ad- 
dressed himself vigorously to tne task of 
repairing his fault. Strong bearers were 
planted about the Loggan Stone, chains 
were parsed round it, pullies were rigged, 
and capstans were manned. Afler a 
week's hard ^ork and brave perseverance 
on the part of every one employed in the 
labour, the rock was pulled back into its 
former position, but not into its former 
perfection of balance ; it has never moved 
since as freely as it moved before. 

As for the lieutenant, he paid dearly 
for his freak ; — he was a poor man ; the 
expenses attendant on the work of re- 
placing the rock were so heavy as almost 
to ruin him ; and at the day of his death 
he had not succeeded, it is said, in 
defraying them all. — Rambles beyond 


The following hints, at this season of 
the year especially, may be useful to 
some of our readers. May is a good 
month in which to commence the prac- 
tice of early rising. 




Every man wbo deiircs to be intelli- 
{^ent and ha^py, should learn to rise early 
in the rooming. He should do this for 
various and strong reasons ; among which 
are the following : 

1. It is healthy to rite early,— J.i is 
scarcely possible to find a healthy person, 
very old, who has not been habitually an 
early riser. Sickly and Infirm old people 
I know there may be, who have been in 
the habit, through life, of late rising ; but 
not many healthy ones. The following 
are the names and ages of several men, 
most of whom were eminent and remark- 
ably healthy, who were distinguished for 
earW rising. Some of them rose as early 
as n>ur o'clock in winter and aummer; 
and one or two of them as early as three 
in summer. 

Dr. Franklin, eighty-four ; John Wes- 
ley, eighty-eight ; Bufibn, the naturalist, 
eighty-one; Stanislaus, king of Poland, 
eighty-nine; lord Coke, eighty- five; 
Fuseli, the painter, eighty-one ; Wash- 
ington, sixtv-eight ; Matthew Hale, sixty- 
eight ; bishop Burnett, seventy -two; 
James Mason, one hundred ; Lewis 
Comaro, over one hundred. 

2. It is delightful to rise early, — Can 
any one entertain a doubt on this point ? 
None can, I am sure, who have tried it 
All the early risers I have ever seen, find 
early rising agreeable. 

3. It is good for the mental or thinking 
powers to rise early, — Solomon says, " Let 
us get up early to the vineyard ; let us 
see if the vines flourish; if the tender 
grane appears ; if the pomegranates bud 
forth." The wise man takes it for granted 
here that the mind is active at this hour 
in observation, as it truly is. There is 
not a little reason to believe that Solomon 
devoted this sacred season, as some have 
called it, to the study of ** the hyssop," 
the " cedar," and other plants and trees ; 
and that it was his morning studies that 
enabled him to become a teacher of fdl 
the kings of the then known world. 

4. It is economical to rise early, — ^The 
old proverb says, 

*' Early to bed, and early to rise, 
Makei men healthy, wealthy, and wise." 

Exercise of the body, whether in recrea- 
tion or at labour, is worth a great deal 
more in the morning than at any other 
time of the day. An early walk is much 
more agreeable, as well as more useful, 
than a later one. The labour of the 
farmer and the mechanic is also more 
agreeable in the morning than at any 

other time, to say nothing of its useful- 
ness. The lesson of the school or of the 
family is easier studied, better under- 
stood, and more readily retained than at 
any other time. Devotion, too, is more 
spiritual at this hour than at any other 
part of the day. 

5. It is rationid to rise early. — ^To lie 
snoring in the morning after the sun is 
up, or even after early dawn, not only 
renders us like animals, but like animals of 
the most stupid sort — the woodchuck, the 
bear, the marmot, and the swine I P. 


"Finished in France," thought Mrs. 
M , as she gazed with deep interest 
upon the daughters of a departed friend, 
and welcomed them to England, after 
three years' residence in the school of a 
French convent. " My old-fashioned 
English Protestantism is suspicious of 

" Well, dear Mrs. M.," cried Georgina, 
theyounger of the two," I guess the mean- 
ing of that long anxious gaza. Tou are 
not gratifying our vanity by admiration 
at our improvement; but you are won- 
dering how far we have advanced in the 
religion of Rome." 

" Your guess was suggested by the 
tone of my letters, I suspect," said Mrs. 
M., smiling; ''but if I confess to the 
correctness of it, I hope you can afford 
me a satisfactory answer." 

"I will only answer for myself, for 
Annette would make a charming nun; she 
is too ^ood for this naughty world, and I 
do believe there was some hope that she 
would have professed, and been canon- 
ized, and then her works of supereroga- 
tion would have been useful to me." 

Annette looked distressed, but an- 
swered Mrs. M.'s inquiring glance. " I 
am glad Georgina does not undertake to 
answer for me, for you might imagine 
that I had disregarded your instructions, 
dear madam. I have not forgotten the 
prayer of Christ for his people, not that 
they might be taken out of the world, but 
that they should be kept from the evil." 

** Then vou are not ensnared by the 
pretence of the holy seclusion of a con> 
vent, notwithstanding Georgina's assur- 
ance of canonization ?" 

" Ob, no! I examined carefully before 
I formed my opinions, and am satisfied 
that this religion of superstitions and 
ceremonies, with its supreme priesthood, 
is not the religion of the gospel of Christ. 



I tbink my residence in the midst of 
idolatry and superstition has not been 
productive of harm ; but I am certain 
that only the grace of God has shielded 


** Do you hear the same testimony, 
dear Georgina ? " asked their friend. 

" I couta not for a moment imagine 
there was danger," replied she. ** I 
admired Popery's splendid outside, for it 
consists of most beautiful things. Pro- 
cessions grand and solemn; music most 
enchanting ; cathedrals most gorgeous; 
good works most self-denying; but I 
could not find real religion in any of 
these. And inside, it is only revolting to 
common sense and Scripture, with its 
masses, and confessions, and penances, 
all alike unworthy of man to offer, or of 
God to accept. And as for the poor 
nuns, their * death to the world,' as they 
are cheated into calling it, is a most ex- 
traordinary drill for the tomb. The pri- 
vate history of their hades would be very 
edifying to the world they have re- 
nounced, if we could be favoured with it. 
I shall never hear that expression, ' dead 
to the world,' without thinking of the 
corpse-like apparitions of St. C ." 

" It is an unhappy association, indeed," 
said Mrs. M., *'for the expression is 
Scriptural, and the state of mind it de- 
Bcribes is right and desirable. Rome has 
in that, as in all her chief abominations, 
carnalized and caricatured a spiritual 
truth. But did you treat error with ridi- 
cule and levity, Georgina 1 " 

" With ridicule ! certainly," she re- 
plied ; " some of their conceits are too 
absurd for serious argument; and when 
an opponent got angry, I passed her on 
to Annette, who had to save me from 
being fed on bread and water, or sent 
home as a heretic, too incorrigible to be 
tolerated on any terms." 

" A Scriptural creed is good, but a 
renewed heart is the safest Protestantism. 
You must seek the latter, my dear young 
friend, or the former will avail you no- 
thing. Tou have escaped one danger, — 
take heed of another ; for the Scylla of 
infidelity is not less fatal than the Cha- 
ry bdis of Popery." 

** Popery must make more infidels than 
converts, I think ; but do not fear that 
we shall be wrecked on either side." 

Mrs. M. did not fear for Annette, but 
for the high-minded, intellectual, and 
self-complacent Georgina she had many 

The two sisters, with a still younger 

one, who had joined them on their return 
to England, sat together one evening, 
after the duties of the day were over. 
Georgina held an open letter in her hand, 
and her eyes were intent upon the fan- 
tastic changes of the fire. Annette was 
watching her with fond affection, and 
Clara having stationed herself on a low 
stool at their feet, looked as if she were 
longing to fathom the minds of both. 
With gentle violence she sought to draw 
the letter from her sister's hand. 

" Dear Georgina, may I not see what 
has made you both so solenin and so 
thoughtful ? Something troubles you, and 
Annette is sad because you are so." 

" Annette need not be sad," said 
Georgina, affectionately endeavouring to 
caress away the anxious expression on 
her sister's countenance. "I shall do 
nothing hastily. You may read the 
letter, Clara, and give us your opinion on 
its contents." 

Clara seized the paper, and turned 
eagerly to the signature. 

" From Mrs. M. I What can she have 
to say, that need make you both look so 

**She loves us, Clara. She was our 
mother's friend," said Annette, re- 

" On, she is such a quaint old-fashioned 
person ! If we were to follow her rules 
in every thing ," 

*' We should perhaps, do wiser and 
better than by following our own," inter- 
rupted Georgina; "so pray read the 
letter aloud, and spare us your saucy 
comments, at least until the end." 

'' It is no good report that I hear of 
you, my dear Georgina ; and if an earnest 
and affectionate remonstrance should hap- 
pily induce you to reconsider, and at last 
avoid the fatal step you meditate, the 
intrusion of an unsought and, perhaps, 
unwelcome opinion will stand acquitted 
before your mind, as it does at this mo- 
ment before my own. Forgive me for 
apparent harshness, for what the world 
may call bigotry or intolerance, when I 
speak the solemn truth, in all plainness 
and simplicity, for I covet not the art of 
so concealing it in some flattering dis- 
guise, as to render it pointless and in- 
operative. I do not say, 'perhaps this,' 
or 'possibly the other;' nay, for in my 
soul I am convinced that no marriage 
contracted between a Protestant and a 
Roman Catholic can be a marriage * in 
the Lord.' It has no sanction, no bless- 



ing, from Heaven, and is the source of 
wretchedness and self-reproach in life 
and in death. Can you venture your 
earthly happiness on this godless founda- 
tion? Dare you look with peace and 
confidence to eternal happiness, while 
associating yourself by the dearest of all 
human ties with a religious system that 
dishonours God, and with persons living 
in disobedience to his commands ? How 
would the proud and high-spirited 
Georgina spurn the idea of an alliance 
with a thief or a blasphemer ! And why? 
Because the one 1 inures, the other shocks 
society. Yet it is God's commands that 
originated the tone in society which re- 
jects such fellowship. And oecause dis- 
obedience to another command, ' Thou 
shalt not bow down to them, nor worship 
them,' does not visibly injure nor shock 
society, but only insults the most high 
God and defies his authority, therefore 
will she choose to have fellowship and 
concord and unity with open and pro- 
fessed idolaters ? Dearest Georgina, think 
of the holy truth of God's word and 
gospel, in contrast with what you have 
seen and known of the church of Rome, 
both in principle and practice. 

'* But there is other, though lower 
ground whence this marriage must be 
viewed. You will give your whole heart, 
full of warm confiding affection, to the 
husband of your choice ; no ear, no eye, 
no voice presuming to come between on 
your part. But he cannot, he dares not 
reciprocate that confidence, for you will 
neither be first in consideration, nor chief 
in influence. His head and heart are in 
the keeping of his priest, with whom the 
firkt object in life is the good of his 
church ; and if you are now imposed on 
by promises that your husband will not 
interfere with your religious opinions, 
you will find, too late, that he is himself 
subject to the interference of a superior 
power, by which both conscience and 
conduct must be ruled. If you waver in 
your present views, you will be indulged, 
courted, met by all the appliances which 
unsanctified wisdom holds ready selected 
for each peculiar turn of mind. If you 
stand firm, you will be made to suffer by 
every channel through which a proud, 
sensitive heart like yours may be con- 
tinuaUy assailed ; for when Rome &ils to 
convert, she is bound to persecute; and 
there are martyrdoms in private life, in 
the secret experience of heretic wives and 
mothers, which if known (as they ought 
to be known), would deter many a 

thoughtless or confiding victim from such 
an unholy union. 

** One word more,. in brief allusion to a 
solemn consideration. In proportion to 
the value you set on God's eternal truth, 
must be your abhorrence of error, and 
your concern to witness its power over 
one to whom you are tenderly attached. 
Each advance you make in spirituality 
must bring into stronger contrast his 
heartless routine of useless formality ; 
and if removed from you in the darkness 
of his unauthorized reliance upon any 
name, or any merit substituted for, or 
mixed up with, that of Christ alone, how 
will you sustain the thought of eternal 
separation, or endure without despair the 
frightful contemplation of a death bereft 
of the only hope that could cheer your 
widowhood ? " 

'* Georgina!" exclaimed Clara, with 
flushed cheek and angry voice, " I can 
read no more. This is outrageous bigotry 
and fanaticism, worthy the days of bold 
Martin Luther or fierce John Knox ; but 
I will read 8om.e of it to Harrington him-* 
self, and ask ifohe recognises any resem- 
blance between the faith of his fathers 
and this description of it." 

''Not for the world, Clara ! It could 
do no good to show him what we think 
of his religion." 

" We, Annette ! Do you think thus of 
any one's religion? But leaving such 
uncharitable notions, do you not see that 
Mrs. M. has entirely forgotten Georgina's 
powers, as well as underrated her influ- 
ence ? Why, is it not far less rational to 
expect that the heretic can be converted 
or persecuted, than that my spirited, 
accomplished, fascinating sister will con- 
vert the idolater ? " 

" Idolater, Clara! it sounds frightful." 

"Oh!" she replied, laughingly, "the 
idolatry to which I allude will be no im- 
pediment to Georgina's happiness; but 
come, Georgina, tell us, haa Harrington 
ever asked you to change your religion ?" 

" No ; on the contrary, he as&ures me 
that he will never interfere with it in any 
way, and that there is no objection on 
the part of his church to such mar- 

Mrs. M.*s remonstrances, Annette's 
apprehensions, her own misgivings were 
disregarded, and in a few months the 
young Roman Catholic received the hand 
of his Protestant bride. 

From the parish church and the Pro- 
testant minister, the bridal party passed 



on to the Romiih chapel, where the 
popUh priest was waiting to reaew the 
eeremony and ratify the marriage. It 
was scarcely potsible for the spiritual 
guide and director of Harrington to look 
with indifference upon the inBuenee now 
brought to bear. upon the character of 
his friend. Georgina's graceful appear- 
ance, her bright intelligent face, her 
manner slightly tinged with condescen* 
sion to prejudice in standing before him 
to receive bis blessing, all warned the 
wary priest that it would be necessary to 
maintain careful oversight of the domestic 
life of his worldly devotee, lest, instead 
of gaining a daughter, ** the church" 
should lose a son. 

As to the correctness or otherwise of 
his anticipations, however, our readers 
must reserve their conclusions until the 
next chapter. 

» ■ 


No monuments of antiquity in the 
island are calculated to impress the tra^ 
▼eiler with such a conception of the 
former power and civilization of Ceylon, 
aa the gigantic ruins of the tanks and 
reaerv^mrs, in which the water, during 
the rains, was collected and preserved for 
the irrigati(m of their rice-lands. 

The number of these structures through- 
out vast districts now comparatively soli* 
tary, is quite incredible, and their indi- 
vidual extent far surpasses any works uf 
the kind with which I am acquainted 
elsewhere. Some of these enormous re- 
servoirs, constructed across the gorges of 
valleys, in^ order to throw back the 
streams that thence issue from the hills, 
cover an area equal to fifteen miles long 
by four or five in breadth ; and there are 
hundreds of a minor construction. 

These are almost universally in ruins ; 
and some idea of their magoitude and 
importance may be derived from the fol- 
lowing extract from my diary, of a visit 
made to one of them in the year 1848. 

" The tank to which I rode was that 
of Pathariecoloru, in the Wanny, about 
seventy miles to the north of Trincomalie, 
and about twenty- five miles distant from 

'' The direction of the pathway had 
never been chosen with a view to the 
convenience of horsemen, and it ran 
along the embankments of neglected 
tanks, and over rocks of gneiss which 
occasionally diversify the monotonous 

level of. the forest, and on the sloping 
sides of which it was difficult to keep a 
secure footing. So little is the country 
known or frequented by Europeans, that 
the odear, or native headman, who acted 
as our guide to the great tank, told me I 
was the third white man who had visited 
it in thirty years. 

** About seven o'clock we reached the 
point of out destination, near the great 
breach in the embankment, having first, 
with difficulty, effected a passage over 
the wide stream which was flowing 
towards it from the basin of the tank. 
The huge tank itself was concealed from 
us by the trees with which it is over- 
grown, till we suddenly found ourselves 
at its foot. It is a prodigious work, 
nearly seven miles in length, at least 
three hundred feet broad at the base, 
upwards of sixty feet high, and faced 
throughout its whole extent by layers of 
squared stone. The whole aspect of the 
place, its magnitude, its loneliness, its 
gigantic strength even in its decay, re- 
minded me forcibly of ruins of a similar 
class described bv recent travellers at 
Uxmal and Palenke, in the solitudes of 
Yucatan and Mexico. 

" The fatal breach throush which the 
waters escape is an ugly cliasm in the 
bank, about two hundred feet broad and 
half as many deep, with the river running 
slowly away below. 

'* This breach affords a eood idea of 
the immense magnitude of the work, as it 
presents a perfect section of the embank- 
ment from summit to base. 

" As we stood upon the verge of it 
above, we looked down on the tops of the 
highest trees, and a pelican's nest, with 
three young birds, was resting on a 
branch a considerable way below us. 

" We walked about two miles along 
the embankment, to see one of the 
sluices, which remains so far entire as to 
permit its original construction to be 
clearlv understood, with the exception 
that the principal courses of stones nave 
sunk lower towards the centre. 

'* From its relative position, I am of 
opinion that the breach through which 
the water now escapes was originally the 
other sluice, which nas been carried away 
by the pressure at some remote period. 
The existing sluice is a very remarkable 
work, not merely from its dimensions, but 
from its ingenuity and excellent work- 
manship. It is built of layers of hewn 
stones, varyin|; from six to twelve feet in 
length, and still exhibiting a sharp edge, 



and every mark of tbe ebisel. These 
rise into a ponderous wall immediately 
above the vents which regulated the escape 
of the water ; and each layer of the work 
is kept in its place by the frequent inser- 
tion, endways, of long plinths of stone, 
whose extremities project from the sur- 
face, with a flange to prevent the several 
courses from being forced out of their 
places. The ends of these retaining 
stones are carved with elephants' heads 
and other devices, like the extremities of 
Gothic corbels ; and numbers of similarly 
sculptured blocks are lying about in all 
directions, though the precise nature of 
the original ornamenta is no longer 

" About the centre of the great em- 
bankment, advantage has been taken out 
of a rock about two hundred feet high, 
which has been built in to give strength 
to the work. We climbed to the top of 
it ; the sun was now high and the neat 
intense ; for in addition to the warmth 
of the day, the rock itself was still glow- 
ing from the accumulated heat of many 
previous days. It was covered with 
vegetation, which sprung vigorously from 
every handful of earth that had lodged in 
the interstices of the stone ; and amongst 
a variety of curious plants, we found the 
screwed euphorbia, the only place in 
which I have seen it in the island. But 
the view from this height was something 
very wonderful ; it was, in fact, one of 
the most memorable scenes I remember 
in Ceylon. Towards the west, the moun- 
tains near Anarajapoora were dimly 
visible in the extremest distance; but 
between us and the sea, and for miles on 
all sides, there was scarcely a single 
eminence, and none half so high as the 
rock on which we stood. To the furthest 
verge of the horizon there extended one 
vast unbroken ocean of verdure, varied 
only by the tints of the forest, and with 
no object for the eye to rest on, except 
here and there a tree, a little loftier than 
the rest, which served to undulate the 
otherwise unbroken surface. 

** Turning to the side next the tank, its 
prodigious area lay stretched below us, 
broken into frequent reservoirs of water, 
and diversified with scattered groups of 
trees. About half a mile from where we 
stood, a herd of wild buffaloes were lum- 
bering through the long grass and roll- 
ing in the fresh mud. These and a deer, 
which came to drink from the water- 
course, were the only living animals to 
be seen In any direction. 

<< As to human habitation, the nearest 
was the village where we had passed the 
preceding night ; but we were told that a 
troop of unsettled Yeddahs had lately 
sown some rice on the verge of the 
reservoir, and taken their departure after 
securing their little crop. And this is 
now the only use to which this gigantic 
undertaking is subservient — it feeds a few 
wandering outcasts; and yet, such are 
its prodigious capabilities, that it might 
be made to fertilise a district equal in 
extent to an English county." 

And who were the constructors of this 
mighty monument ? It is said, that some 
one of the sacred books of Ceylon records 
the name of the king who built it ; but it 
has perished from the living memory of 
man. On the top of the great embank- 
ment itself, and close by the beach, there 
stands a tall sculptured stone, with two 
engraved compartments, that no doubt 
record its history ; but the odear in- 
formed us that the characters were 
" Nagari, and the language Pali, or some 
unknown tongue which no one now can 

What, too, must have been the ad- 
vancement of engineering power at the 
time when this immense work was under* 
taken. It is true that it exhibits no 
traces of science or superior ingenuity ; 
and, in fact, the absence is one of the 
causes to which the destruction of ihe 
tanks of Ceylon has been very reasonably 
ascribed, as there had been no arrange- 
ment for regulating their own contents, 
and no provision for allowing the super- 
fluous water to escape during violent 
inundations. But irrespective of this, 
what must have been the A>mmand of 
labour at the time when such a construc- 
tion was achieved? The government 
engineer calculates that, taking the 
length of the bank at six mOes, its height 
at sixty feet, and its breadth at two hun- 
dred at the base, tapering to twenty at 
the top, it would contain 7,744,000 cubic 
yards, and at Is, 6d, per yard, with the 
addition of one-half that sum for facing 
it with stone, and constructing the sluices 
and other works, it would cost 870,000/. 
sterling to construct the front embank- 
ment alone ! 

But inquiry does not terminate here. 
What must have been the numbers of the 
population employed upon a work of such 
surprising magnitude ? and what the 
population to be fed, and for whose use 
not only this gigantic reservoir was 
designed, but some thirty others of nearly 



atmilar magnitude, which are still in 
ezistenee, but more or less in ruin, 
throughout a district of a hundred and 
fifty miles in length from north to south, 
and about ninety from sea to sea ? An- 
oUier mysterious question is still behind, 
and unanswered. What was the calamity, 
or series of calamities, which succeeded 
in exterminating this multitude? which 
reduced their noble monuments to ruin, 
which silenced their peaceful industry, 
and converted their beautiful and fertile 
region into an unproductive wilderness, 
tenanted by the buffalo and the elephant, 
and only now and then visited by the 
iinclad savage, who raises a little rice in 
its deserted solitudes, or disturbs its silent 
jungles to chase the deer, or rob the wild 
bee of its honey ? — Tennent^s ** Chrit* 
tianity in Ceylon.** 


The tittle round tin box, with its mys- 
terious bover pressed down by a sharp 
flint and curiously-formed steel, was as 
common an ornament, twenty years ago, 
to the end of the kitchen mantlepiece as 
the bright copper kettle to its hob. Who 
that is old enough does not recollect the 
strong odour of burning rags which now 
and then filled the house about bed- time ? 
causing numerous inquiries, ''What is 
burning in the kitchen?" and satisfac- 
torily answered by the housemaid, " It is 
only tinder, ma'am." The very voices 
that asked the question and gave the 
answer ring in our ears as well-known 
sounds, familiar to our minds as the 
haunts of our childhood. But the modest 
little tinder>box, and the quiet scenes in 
which it played its part, like the dashing 
Btage-coach and the bustling scenes that 
attended its progress, is a thing of by- 
gone times. The serving-maid would 
disdain now to put her finger in danger 
by a false stroke of the hard flint, or to 
blow teasingly at the damp tinder, to get 
a light for her kitchen-fire, even in the 
broad daylight of a summer morning. By 
the master and mistress it is not less 
heartily abandoned for its more honoured 
(»)mpetitor the lucifer match. But 
though neglected and unused, it must 
not be forgotten. It can teach some good 
scientific lessons, if properly questioned, 
and what it teaches we may attempt to 

How often has the reader heard from 
the ruddy laughing lips of a child, 
" Look! lookl see how the fire is struck 
out of the flint 1 '* and that exclamation 
contained all his philosophy of the tinder- 
box, and of many much older, and in 
their estimation, much wiser than he. 

Let us examine the simple phrase-* 
fire out of a flint ! What is fire? It is 
not a principle in nature, it is not even a 
thing existing in itself, but simply a name 
given to any substance when burning in 
mass, or as men of science say, in com- 
bustion. Hence it is necessary, when 
speaking of a fire, to describe of what it 
consists; and it is customary to say, a 
wood, a peat, or a coal fire. The com- 
bustion, too, must be in mass, for we can- 
not call a burning cinder or a flying 
spark a fire. The term is also limited in 
its application, being generally confined 
to those substances which are used for 
the purposes of fuel. It is tlierefore in- 
correct to say that fire is struck out of a 
flint; but if it be not fire, what is it? 
There must be heat in the flint, every- 
body will say, or it could not be struck 
out. Heat there is, for heat is a com- 

?onent part of every substance in nature, 
'here is heat in ice, as well as in water 
and steam, and all these states of the 
same maitter retain their distinct condi- 
tions, in consequence of the relative 
quantities of heat they contain. All the 
solid substances that can be liquified by 
heat do not require the same quantity of 
heat to produce that effect : lead has less 
component heat than tin, and tin less 
than copper. But whether the quantity 
be large or small, it is not sensible ; and 
hence the distinction commonly made in 
scientific writings between specific heat 
and sensible heat, generally called tem- 
perature. Water may be as cold to the 
touch as ice, though in their composition 
they contain very different quantities of 
heat. This is mysterious, but it is no less 
so to the philosopher than to the man 
who hears the fact for the first time. 
Heat, then, there is in the flint and steel ; 
and it may even be said to be struck out, 
for under certain circumstances the spe- 
cific heat may cease to be a component 
part, and become sensible. 

The temperature of many substances 
is raised by percussion, that is, by striking 
one substance against another. The 
process may be tolerably explained in 
some instances, hut in others the effect is 
not so clearly traced to its cause. In 
science, as well as other studies, it is not 



uncommon to generalize too widely, and 
to wrongly apply an acknowledged prin- 
ciple ; and when this is done, it is more 
difficult to acknowledge the error than it 
was before to confess ignorance. 

A piece of iron may be raised to a red 
heat by continued hammering. The 
effect of the hammering is a condensation 
of the particles, or in other words, the 
driving of them into a smaller space ; the 
effect of the condensation is an increased 
temperature. But why the condensation 
produces or develops sensible heat, I 
cannot explain. The fact itself is proved 
by numerous observations, but the cause 
remains hidden. 

In the act of striking a flint against a 
piece of steel, which is a true instance of 
percussion, a small portion is knocked 
off, and it is red-hot Friction, too, raises 
the temperature of bodies ; as when an 
Indian rubs together two pieces of hard 
dry wood, and when the wheels of a car- 
riage ** heat " from the rapidity of their 
rotation. In all machinery, too, the 
heating effect of friction is so great that 
unless carefully watched, and by proper 
precautions prevented, derangement and 
unnecessarily rapid destruction soon fol- 
low. The common turning-lathe, one of 
the most simple of all mechanical con- 
trivances, is an instance of this. To 
diminish the friction produced by the 
rapid rotation of the spindle against its 
bearings, oil should be frequently intro- 
duced; and if this precaution be neg- 
lected, or if the bearings be unequal or 
irregular to even a small degree, the tem- 
perature is rapidly raised, and if unat- 
tended to, the machine will become so 
hot that the metal will expand, and the 
mischief will be still further increased by 
an unequal expansion of the parts, arising 
from their unequal temperatures. Every 
one at all acquainted with machinery 
must have seen many instances in which 
the heat produced by friction has been so 
great in a working tool, that it has been 
necessary to reduce the temperature by 
placing wet cloths upon it, and even by 
pouring water upon the heated parts. 

From what has been stated, then, it 
appears that the temperature of bodies is 
raised by percussion and friction, an 
effect probably resulting from a derange- 
ment in the order and relations of their 
particles ; but in what way the heat be- 
comes sensible as a consequence of this 
derangement, no one haayet satisfact<Nrtly 
explained. Inhere is, in all inquiries, a 
limit to our knowledge. This limit is 

sometimes established by the incapacity 
of our minds for deeper thought, and 
sometimes by the hidden action of causes. 
The wisdom of God can be only super- 
ficially understood by man ; but the 
causes which are unseen are not the least 
surprising evidences of his omnipotence 
impressed on the material world. 

The heated particle struck off by the 
contact of flint and steel is supposed to 
fall on tinder. The questions now; to be 
answered are, what is tinder, and why is 
it used. Tinder is charred rag, a sub* 
stance peculiarly adapted for combustion. 
The ignition is immediate, but the com- 
bustion is comparatively slow. The use 
of the tinder is as an intermediate sub- 
stance between the production of a heated 
or incandescent particle of matter and 
the flame which is required* If the frag- 
ment could be kept at a red heat long, 
enough to inflame a match, there would 
be no necessity for tinder ; but as its heat 
is dissipated almost as rapidly as it is 
generated, some intermediate substance, 
like tinder, fit to receive and retain the 
heat, by its slow combustion, is absolutely 

Having obtained the necessary heat, tt 
is not difficult to produce flame from it in 
another body. The temperature of the 
burning tinder is not sufficient to inflame 
wood and many other combustible sub- 
stances ; but there are others, and among 
them sulphur, which catch fire readily. 
Potassium, as is well known, bums with 
an intense flame immediately it is 
brought into contact with the oxygen of 
the atmosphere ; phosphorus is inflamed 
by the heat generated by a slight friction, 
and sulphur, on contact with any body in 
slow combustion. This is the reason why 
the end of the match is tipped with sul- 
phur. By blowing upon tne tinder, the 
ignition is facilitated, for the rapidity 
with which a substance burns depends on 
the quantity of oxygen with which it is 
supplied. When the lid of the tinder-box 
is put over the smouldering rags, the 
combustion ceases; not because of the 
pressure upon the burning body, but 
because the air is excluded. In every 
case of combustion there must be a com- 
bustible body, a temperature sufficient 
f(Nr ignition, and a supporter of combus- 
tion ; any of these being absent, the 
Phenomenon called burning cannot exist, 
'here are some gases which destroy com- 
bustion, there are others which supp<»rt it, 
with greater or less intensity ; but the 
absence of a supporter without the pTe<^ 



sence of a non-supporter is an effectual 
bar to combustion, although the other 
conditions may be perfect 

Without straining truth for a com- 
parison, or misapplying the subject of 
these few remarks, there is an analogy 
In the mode of investigating this, and 
almost all other subjects whicli strikes the 
mind, and is worthy of notice. In almost 
all questions, great as well as small, there 
are three things to be considered, — the 
exciting cause, the transmitting agency, 
and the ultimate effect. The vibrating 
body, as an example, is the exciting 
cause ; the air is the communicating 
medium ; and the effect upon man is the 
sensation of sound. We may even ex- 
tend this process of inquiry to moral and 
Divine truths. Take, for example, the 
natural condition of the human race : the 
exciting cause is the innate depravity of 
the heart ; the aiding influences are the 
enticements of the world, offering base 
gratification to the senses, and the pos- 
session of wealth, its most glittering bait ; 
the effect is death. The doctrine of man's 
redemption might be explained by the 
same process. The exciting cause is 
God's infinite and unmerited love; the 
means of communication is the eternal 
word ; the end is life. This process of 
investigation may be recommended to all 
learners, as a simple mode of classifying 
facts, and presenting them without con- 
fusion to the mind; and if the reader 
adopts it, he will not have misspent a few 
minutes in the study of a tinder-box. 

W. H. 


(from the GERMAN.) 

In a gloomy but tranquil chamber, 
looking out upon the streets of Paris, 
about two hunared and sixty years ago, 
there sat an aged man, leaning his head 
on his hand. His hair was hoary, and 
his brow was deeply wrinkled with traces 
of thought and care. He stooped, as if 
the activity of his past life had laid a 
heavy burden on his shoulders, yet his 
eyes sparkled with the glow of anima- 
tion. On the table before him stood 
sundry specimens of earthenware, adorned 
with figures copied from ancient masters 
of painting. One was a pitcher, which 
contained a fine representation of the 
marriage feast at Cana, in bas relief; an- 
other a dish, with the figures of Peter and 
John healing the lame roan^ at the beau- 

tiful gate of the temple. There were 
shelves loaded with plates, dishes, bowls, 
cups, and jugs, in tlie shapes of quad- 
rupeds and birds, reptiles and fishes, all 
painted in their natural colours. An 
enamelled porcelain vase, from Italy, 
stood also in the centre of the table, and 
on this vase the aged man had fixed his 
eyes, as he sat before it, apparently lost 
in thought. 

A knock being heard at the door, 
another person entered. This guest was 
no stranger to the worthy old man, who 
sat in the arm-chair, and whom he thus 
addressed : — " My good brother, master 
Bernard, I rejoice to find you undis- 
turbed, for, as you know, when you dwelt 
in the Tuileries I could not visit you 
without endangering my own life; but 
now we can meet, and talk together of 
those concerns in which our hearts are 
most interested." 

''You are right," answered the esti- 
mable Bernard Palissy ; '' I am very glad 
to see you at this time. I was just em- 
ployed in calling to mind the goodness of 
God which has attended me through 
my whole life. I am an old man, and I 
have seen many changes, which ought to 
be to me as so many calls for gratitude. 
When I was but a boy, I had good 
opportunities for learning, so that I was 
able to acquire something of Latin, 
Greek, and Hebrew. My father was 
poor, so that I was accustomed to eat my 
bread in the sweat of my brow. My 
heavenly Father, however, gave me a 
quick and attentive eye, and a ready 
mind, to profit by instruction, which I 
gained not so much from books as from 
his works in heaven and earth. My time 
has been taken up with the study of the 
land and water, of earths and metals ; and 
many are the wonderful truths which 
these have brought to my mind. It was 
always a delight to me to explore the 
wonders of creation ; and if my researches 
have unfolded to me the wisdom and 
goodness of God, as shown in his works, 
I shall always have cause to praise him 
for them." 

Here some other persons entered, 
namely, Peter Sauxay the poet, and 
Andronet du Cereay the builder. The 
stranger who had already spoken was 
Merlin, who had been chaplain to the 
admiral Coligny, before his death, at the 
massacre of St. Bartholomew, in 1572, or 
about fourteen years before the date of 
the conversation we are supposing tg 
have taken place. 



"What if that Italian vase?" asked 
Merlin, fixing his eyes upon it. 

" It was that," resumed Palissy, 
" which led roe into the train of thought 
I just now mentioned to you. This vase 
came into my possession forty-seven 
years ago, and the hour when I first 
received it in my hands was an epoch in 
my life. When I first beheld that beau- 
tinil specimen of workmsnship, I resolved 
to find out the secret of its manufacture ; 
but I was as a blind man groping in the 
dark. Sometimes my oven was too cool, 
sometimes too hot for my purpose. At 
that time I earned my daily bread by 
making panes of coloured glass. After 
many years, during which I had spent in 
vain much labour and money, so that 
poverty and hunger now threatened me, 
I determined to put my favourite vase 
into a glass-house, and in four hours it 
was turned perfectly white. At least I 
had accomplished one step of my pro- 
gress. My joy was great; but other 
trials of patience still awaited me. I 
began to prepare for sale small vessels of 
earthenware, in an oven made expressly 
for the purpose, where for six days and 
nights I kept up an incessant fire, until 
wood became scarce with me. I had 
used all that my garden afforded, and 
was ready next to take some of the fur- 
niture of my house, while my neighbours 
regarded me as a fool. In order to pay 
my debts, I parted with the clothes that 
I wore. Still, by degrees, I gained 
ground, and felt more and more desirous 
to go on, in spite of difficulties. But God 
had prepared better things for me ; and 
while I was pursuing these researches in 
the province of Saintange, the sound of 
gospel truth first reached my ears. Some 
German monks, who had cast aside the 
errors of Rome, came and settled near us 
in the year 1559. They lived in retire- 
ment, but taught their neighbours the 
truths of the gospel. We purchased 
Bibles, and met together to hear them 
read and explained. Those were happy 
days ! But times of persecution were at 
hand. Our little society was broken up, 
and we were scattered in all directions. 
But, oh, the loving-kindness of the Lord ! 
When I suffered distress, in pursuing my 
discoveries, he comforted me by sending 
to me his own precious word ; and after- 
wards, when I suffered persecution for the 
sake of that word, my discoveries supplied 
me with the means of support. Although 
my enemies hated me, on account of my 
religion, they did not injure me, because 

no one else could manufacture this sort 
of porcelain. I have seen many of the 
friends whom I dearly loved perish be- 
side me; but God has preserved me, 
though in the midst of lions." 

This is no fiction, but a true narrative. 
In the year 1562, or twenty-four years 
before the time of this supposed con- 
versation, the porcelain manufactory of 
Saintes, which belonged to Palissy, was 
broken into ; and his life would have 
been in peril, had not Charles ix., then 
king of France, who admired his inge- 
nuity, interposed to save him from the 
hands of his enemies. The queen- 
mother, Catherine of Medici, made him 
governor of the palace of the Tuileries, 
which she was anxious to have repaired 
and decorated, and she knew no one who 
possessed the abilities and good taste of 
Bernard Palissy. She saw, moreover, 
that he was a Protestant ; yet she would 
not relinquish his assistance for the com- 
pletion of her designs. Thus the good 
old man remained in peace, under the 
shadow of that throne which was the 
cause of ruin and destruction to the other 
followers of Jesus. Even among the 
attendants on the person of the queen- 
mother were numbered a few other 
devoted Protestants, with whom he could 
join in singing : 

" Why do the heathen rage, 
And the people imagine a vain thing ? 
The kings of the earth set themselves, 
And the rulers take counsel ti^ether, 
Against the Lord, and against liis anointed. 
• • • • • 

Thou Shalt break them with a rod of iron ; 
Thou Shalt dash them in pieces like a potter's 
vessel," Psalm ii. I, 2, 9. 

Palissy once said, " I could write to 
our brethren of the saints in Nero's 
household. The Lord has prepared a 
shelter for us within those very walls 
which were intended for our overthrow." 

Nor was it wonderful that even the 
perverse Charles ix. should admire the 
genius of Palissy, who was indeed a 
benefactor and an ornament to his native 
land. He had made some discoveries in 
chemistry and geology, which had set 
him far above most of nis contemporaries. 
His museum of natural history in Paris, 
which was contained in a small chamber 
in rue St. Jacques (St. James's-street), 
was the first of the kind in which the 
curiosities were scientifically arranged ; 
and when he exhibited them, he was 
visited by most of the learned men in the 
French nation. All the nobility, and 
even the monarch, prized the specimens 



of porcelain manufactured by him. On 
these accounts he was sheltered during 
the three dreadful days of the massacre 
of St. Bartholomew. That slaughter 
began on the night of August 23rd, 1572. 
The sound of the bell in the church of St. 
Germain was the signal for the Romanist 
citizens to go forth to the murder of 
their Protestant neighbours. The mur- 
derers broke into every house where they 
knew the followers of the Reformation to 
exist, and sent troops abroad, who killed 
hundreds in their own apartments. Not 
less than 50,000 Protestants then fell 
▼ictims to their cruelty. Yet Bernard 
Falissy was allowed to remain unhurt. 

And where was he at the date of 1586, 
when he had removed from the Tuileries ? 
The answer is soon given. His royal 
mistress was a slave to superstitious 
terror. Although her palace had highly 
delighted her, she forsook it as soon as 
she heard that it was in the parish of St. 
Germain TAuxerrois, because an astro- 
loger had foretold that she would die in a 
place called St. Germain. She chose a 
site for a new palace in the parish of St. 
Eustatius, whither she removed, with her 
suite, even before the building was com- 

Jilete. But Palissy was not there; he 
onged for repose in his old age, and pre- 
ferred a humble dwelling in the rue St. 
Jacques, where the remainder of his life 
was spent in the study of the Holy Scrip- 
tures, in prayer, and devout meditation. 
Nine years had passed since he had left 
the palace, and during this space of time 
he had been engaged in his last public 
work, the perfecting of his art of porcelain 
painting. He also valued his Bible more 
and more as he advanced in years. Per- 
secution had not ceased, though France 
resounded with the sounds of civil dis- 
cord ; but a little flock of true disciples 
had gathered around Palissy, whose study 
was to them a house of prayer, a gate of 

The blood-thirsty prince, Charles ix., 
had finished his short career. His bro- 
ther, Henry iii., succeeded him, a weak 
and contemptible character. He had not 
even the resolution to protect the aged 
Palissy from the enemies who hated and 

S*rsecuted him for righteousness' sake, 
arly one morning, in March, 1588, the 
venerable man was summoned before his 
prince, and threatened with death, if he 
continued obstinate in adherence to the 
faith which he professed. Palissy was 
ninety years old, but he had lost nothing 
of his meatal vigour and greatness. The 

weight of years had not subdued his 
courage, nor could the fear of death 
diminish his confidence in God. He rose 
up before his prince, looked steadfastly 
upon Henry, and declared, ''Sire, you 
have repeatedly stated that you would 
have pity on me ; but I pity you, if you 
can now say that you are compelled to 
persecute me. Such a word is not fit for 
a king to use. But, sire, neither yourself 
nor tliose who have compelled you thus 
to speak, nor the whole people of France, 
can compel a potter to bow before the 
images which he fabricates. I can die ! " 
Henry retired, without attempting to 
utter another word ! 

In the course of the following year, the 
chief enemies of this good roan were 
removed by death ; Catherine of Medici 
also expired, and a few months afterwards, 
king Henry himself fell by the hand of a 
Dominican monk. The aged Palissy 
was, during this interval, a prisoner ; but 
the time of his deliverance was not far 
off. Early in the year 1590, one of his 
friends came to the Bastille to inquire 
after him, and heard that he had died 
only the day before, at the age of ninety. 
His prison gates, though fast barred, 
could not hinder the approach of angels, 
when his heavenly King summoned him 
to a home in the mansions above. 

E. S. 


*' No mention sball be made of coral, or of pearls : 
for the price of wisdom is above rubies." — Job 
xxviii. 18. 

The pearl is a hard shiny substance, 
found in a shellfish resembling an oyster, 
and is the result of a disease in this fish. 
Pearls have a fine polish, — some are of a 
pure and others of a reddish hue. They 
vary in size; the large ones are most 
valued. The most celebrated fisheries 
are the coasts of Persia and Ceylon. The 
divers, who are generally trained to the 

Sractice from their youth, go down in all 
epths, from five to fifteen fathoms, 
remaining about two minutes, and bring- 
ing up from eight to twelve oysters in 
both hands. On reaching the surface, 
they merely take time to recover breath, 
and then dive again immediately. This 
produces serious injury to the divers, who 
seldom live long. They are also exposed 
in India to the shark ; but ignorant of the 
God of the sea as well as of the dry land, 
they foolishly employ shark-binders to 
charm them away. 





The pearl of Bahrein is considered 
very superior to that of Ceylon, hoth in 
quiuity and in colour. Before sending 
them off from the island, they are care- 
fully assorted as to size, shape, and tint ; 
then heing drilled through, are strung on 
threads, and made up into round bundles 
of about three inches diameter, sealed 
and directed, and sent in that form to 
their various destinations. They are then 
called "pomegranates of the sea," to 
which these bundles have a pretty exact 

The word "pearl" occurs only once in 
the Old Testament, Job xzviii., answer- 
ing to the word translated " hailstones," 
in Ezekiel. It is doubtful, however, that 
pearls are mentioned in the Old Testa- 
ment. The word gabish (Job xxviii. 18) 
appears to mean crystal, and the word 
beninimf which our version translates by 
"rubies," is now supposed to mean 
coral, t The pearl (Margaritei) is fre- 
quently alluded to in the New Testament. 

Pearls were very highly esteemed by 
the ancient Jews, Medes, Romans, Per- 
sians, and Indians. The rabbins called 
the precepts of wisdom pearls. Hence 
the allusion in the caution of our Lord to 
his disciples, " Neither cast ye your 
pearls before swine," Matt. vii. 6. Simi- 
lar language is used in India to those 
who speak on subjects of a highly sacred 
nature before people of gross minds : — 
" What ! are silk tassels to be tied to the 
broom? Will you give a beautiful flower 
to a monkey? Who would cast rubies 
into a heap of rubbish? What I are you 
giving ambrosia to a dog V'X 

The gospel is compared (Matt. xiii. 
46) to a " pearl of great price." In the 
parable it is evidently implied that all 
the merchant possessed was no more 
than enough to purchase the pearl. Had 
he offered to part with half his pos- 
sessions, or even with the whole, a small 
part excepted, he would not have gained 
his object. How many, it is to be feared, 
there are who would part with some 
things, yea, with many things, if, by so 
doing, they could gain heaven, and yet 
retain some favourite earthly good I 

On holidays, the Barbary Jewesses 
wear a splendid tiara of pearls, emeralds, 
and other precious stones, besides being 
decked with splendid costumes. In 
Chaldsea the men wore turbans, richly 
ornamented with gold and pearls. Char- 
din says, that in almost all the east the 

• Crichton'8 " Arabia." t KItto'a " Cyclop." 
} Roberts's *< Oriental Illustrations." 

women wear rings in the left nostril. These 
rings are of gold, and have commonlv 
two pearls and one ruby placed in each 
ring. Tippoo Saib was adorned with 
pearls when he fell before the gates of 
Seringapatam. "The fondness of the 
daughters of Zton for a fine head-dress 
still lingers in the hearts of the Jewesses 
at Brody, in Austrian Poland. They 
wear a black velvet coronet, adorned 
with strihes of precious stones, or imita- 
tion pearls; and though this piece of 
finery 'costs several pounds, yet so de- 
votedly attached are they to their < round 
tires like the moon,' that scarcelv can an 
old woman be found seated at ner stall 
who d.6ea not wear one, as if they were 
queens even in their captivity." * 

H. H. 


On the death of old Mr. Jeffnes, his 
two nephews and niece, Thomas Jeffries, 
and Samuel and Eleanor Langley, eaclr 
came into possession of a house in Marl- 
borough-terrace. The houses, standing 
at a rent of 40/. each, were all in the 
occupation of respectable tenants. The 
legatees, it may be imagined, were not at 
all displeased at this accession to their 
income. There is generally some good 
reason for such accessions being accept- 
able. In this case each had a reason of 
their own. Miss Langley was on the 
point of being married, and she was 
pleased to have this little unexpected 
portion to confer, together with her hand, 
on a worthy, disinterested young man, 
who had sought her for her own sake. 
Her brother was glad to feel himself 
enabled to do more for the education of 
his children than his limited resources 
had hitherto permitted. Their cousin, Mr. 
Jeffries, was glad, because he loved 

On payment of the first half-year's 
rent, the tenants applied for some needful 
repairs, and expressed a wish that, as 
spring advanced, the outside of their 
houses should be painted. It was three 
years since that improvement had been 
last effected, and old Mr. Jefi[ries used to 
have it done once in three years. The 
application was reasonable, and, on the 
part of Mr. and Miss Langley, was 
readily acceded to. On examination of 
the roofs, it was found that the repairs re- 
quired were not very extensive ; though, 

* '*NanatiTe of a MiuioD of laquiry to th« 



if neglected^ they would ezpoae the 
tenants to inconvenience, and the pro- 
perty to dilapidation. They were imme- 
diately attended to. On coming from 
inspecting the workmen, Mr. Langley 
was accosted by his cousin : 

" What are you doing up there ?" 

** Not much — only making good a few 
slates in the roof, and doing a little to 
the chimneys. I am glad to have met 
you, for I observe one of your chimney- 
pots is loose ; and now the ladders are 
up, the expense would be a mere trifle, if 
you like the men to do what is needful to 
your house as well as ours." 

" No, thank you ; I dare say there is 
nothing much amiss, and I am not going 
to spend money upon the house almost 
before I have received it." 

" As you please ; but a few shillings, 
timely spent, may spare the expense of 

'* Yes ; and humouring tenants, at the 
expense of a few shillings, may set them 
upon wanting us to spend pounds. A 
few shillings will not paint a house ; and 
my tenant assures me that you and 
Eleanor have both promised that yours 
shall be painted." 

" We have so. Uncle was accustomed 
to do it, and the tenants have a right to 
expect it As we have good tenants, it 
is our wish to keep them. Besides, you 
know the Dutch proverb, that 'Paint 
costs nothing.' " 

" Well, if it costs nothing, let the tenants 
lay it on at their own expense, if they 
please. For my part, I cannot afford it" 

Not many weeks had elapsed, when 
the loose chimney was blown down. 
Happily no person was injured; but a 
great part of the roof was broken in, and 
the bill for repairs, which could no longer 
be averted, was such as might hare con- 
vinced Mr. Jeffries that he had been 
'* penny wise and pound foolish." But, 

*' He that complies against his will, 
Is of the same opinion still." 

Mr. Jeffries still adhered to his narrow- 
minded policy, until he completely dis- 
gusted a good tenant, who, the first 
opportunity that occurred, removed to 
another house In the same terrace. That 
of Mr. Jeffries' stood empty so long as to 
consume at least five times the amount 
of property that would have been required 
to meet the utmost wishes of a reasonable 
tenant He could not afford it. 

It was a great pity — and everybody 
said so — that thoss two grandsons of old 

Triehett, the rich farmer and grszter, at 
Long Marsh, were not better trained and 
better instructed, considering that wheti 
the old man should die — and he could 
not live for ever — they would come in for 
the largest property in the country. But 
old Triehett was so intent on amassing 
money, that he never could afford to 
enjoy it himself, or to lay out any part of 
it on the common comforts or suitable 
education of those who were to possess it 
all. During his lifetime, there was no- 
thing in the outward appearance of the 
lads — nothing in the cultivation of their 
minds, or the refinement of their man- 
ners, to distiiiguish them from the sons 
of the ploughman. Their grandfather 
delighted to keep them employed on the 
most menial drudgery, to accustom them, 
not merelv to plain living, but to a want 
of the ordmary decencies of civilized life, 
and in destitution of the means of per- 
sonal indulgence, however innocent. It 
may be questioned if on either of them he 
ever bestowed a shilling of pocket-money, 
to spend as they pleased. When the old 
man died, his elder grandson was just 
come of age, and the younger not more 
than a year short of it. They soon came 
into uncontrolled possession of the pro- 
perty, and speedily found instructors to 
supply the deficiencies of their education, 
ana teach them how to become fine gen- 
tlemen by extravagance and dissipation. 
In a quarter of the time that had been 
spent in accumulating the propertv, it 
was all squandered away in gambling, 
intemperance, and other concomitant 
vices. The heir to a miser generally 
becomes a prodigal; and among many 
exemplifications of that '' sore evil under 
the sun, — riches kept for the owners 
thereof to their hurt,^' Eccles. v. 13, few 
are more striking than those in which 
eagerness to accumulate withholds the 
means of cultivating a preparedness to 
enjoy and improve. A few hundreds 
bestowed upon giving their boys a good 
and proper education might have pre- 
vented the waste of many thousands, and 
even beeti the means of causing the 
whole to be employed in doing good 
instead of evil. 

"I cannot afford it," was the constant 
reply of poor Miller, a worthy, over- 
worked artisan, when urged by his friends 
to undertake less, or to engage subordi- 
nate assistance. His motives were good, 
but his calculations were erroneous. A 
tedious and expensive illness convinced 
him that it would have been much 



cheaper, setting aside every other con- 
tideration, to have moderated hit exer* 
tioni, rather than overstrain the bow, 
and render it, for a long time, altogether 

*' I cannot afford it" is the replv of 
many when pressed to lay aside their 
secular occupations, and improve the rest 
of the holy sabbath of the Lord. *'I 
should be glad to have a day of rest, I 
should like constantly to attend a place 
of worship ; but while others keep open 
their shops, I cannot afford to close mine ; 
when work comes in, I cannot afford to 
turn it away." This may seem good 
economy for a little while, but never 
answers in the long run. The impartial 
evidence of persons in every rank of life, 
who have fairly tried the experiment, 
and that of medical men, who have care- 
fully observed its effects on others, con- 
cur in proving that, even setting aside 
the claims of religion, it is more profitable 
and advantageous in every point of view, 
to labour six days, and rest on the 
seventh ; and to extend that rest to the 
man-servant and the maid-servant and 
the cattle. But when, in addition to 
worldly considerations, it is taken into 
account that the sabbath is the soul's 
market-day, who can afford to lose It? 
The sabbath is the soul's harvest; and 
"he that sleepeth in harvest," or em- 
ploys the hours of harvest on any foreign 
and inferior pursuit, ''is a son that 
causeth shame:" and "what is a man 
profited, if he shall gain the whole world, 
and lose his own soul ? " 

" I cannot afford it," say many, who 
call tbemselves Christians, and would 
think it very uncharitable in others to 
doubt their claim to the title; when 
called upon to make some exertions or 
some sacrifices for the promotion of the 
Redeemer's cause in the world. Alas ! 
for such Christians I What other thing 
is it that they cannot afford ? It is not 
on food or raiment, house or fVimiture, 
displays or pleasure-taking of any kind, 
that self-denial is to be practised, or re- 
trenchments to be made. These things 
they do and will afford ; they cannot dis- 
pense with them. But when the claims 
of piety or benevolence are brought for- 
ward, then they become frugal; their 
ability to spend shrinks almost into in- 
visibility. The love of Christ does not 
constrain them ; they can spend every- 
thing from Christ, but nothmg for him. 
How dwelleth the love of God in them ? 

" I cannot afford it" So say some in 

reference to confessing Christ before 
men ; humbly yet firmly taking a decided 
part, and steadily acting out Uie convic- 
tions of conscience. This is what the 
command of Christ renders an im- 
perative duty on all who would be his 
disciples; but many say they cannot 
afford to do it. They cannot run the 
risk of disobliging friends, or offending 
customers; they cannot venture to en- 
counter persecution, or even to bear the 
sneer of ungodly men. And can they 
afford to be ashamed of Jesus and of his 
words ? And can they venture the tre- 
mendous risk of having the Saviour 
Judge ashamed of them in the last great 
day? A realizing thought of that solemn 
scene would transfer the emotion of fear 
and desire from imaginary terrors and 
empty delights to such as are real and 
infinite, would be a preservative against 
yieldinj? to this temptation, and turning 
aside from the path of duty, through 
either cowardice or self-interest. By 
keeping in view the judgment-day, we 
may learn to dread nothing but sin, and 
to desire nothing so ardently as to be 
found in Christ, and not ashamed before 
him at his coming. S. 


Richard being found in a reverie 
shortly after an extraordinary display of 
powers in Parliament, by his brother, 
Edmund Burke, and questioned by Mr. 
Malone as to the cause, replied, " I have 
been wondering how Ned has contrived 
to monopolize all the talents of the 
family ; but then, again, I remember, 
when we were at play, he was always at 
work." The force of this anecdote is 
increased by the fact, that Richard Burke 
was considered not inferior in natural 
talents to his brother. Yet the one rose 
to greatness, while the other died com- 
paratively obscure. Do not trust to your 
genius, young men, if you would rise; 
ut work, work I 


Whbn the Jesuits settled the plan of 
education in the College of Clermont, the 
physicians were consulted on the portion 
of time which the students should be 
allowed for sleep* They declared tbat 
five hours were sufficient, six an abun- 
dant allowance, and seven as much as a 
youthful constitution could bear without 
m^ury.^-^Butler's Bemifdseences, 


The extended collection of arniB at 
Gondrieh Court* begini with tlie ruile 
weapang of savage life. Some of these 
are made of aimple wood, and others 
ehaped out of flint, stone, or slate. A 
part of these baa been supplied from the 
Isle* of the PaciGc Ocean, and some are 
the manufacture of the ancient Britons, 
before their intercourse nith the Phceni- 
cian* bad improred iheir knowledge. 
After these come arms and armour of 
copper, alWed with tin, Greek, Etrus- 
can, or Celtic ; and then, in the regular 
order of chronology, such as are formed 

. of steel. We caDnot gaze on these vitb- 
j out conjuring up in our imaginalion the 
warriors of different countries nho used 
them. Here stands an ancient Briton, 
I wielding a massive club of hard wood, and 
' Ihere a savage from the Pacific, throwing 
his javelin pointed with atone. Greeks 
and Eiruscans wage their war with iword 
and buckler, and knights, armed cap-it- 
pie, rush forwards on Aery steeds, to the 
deadly strife, with couched spears. 


I'clnr wid«, 

liled Ijy puilon, luit, oiid pride, 



efTected with them. Coucy, earl of 
Ulster, was a knight of great strength ; so 
much so, that on one occasion, when king 
John of England and Philippe Auguste 
of France were present, lie cut through a 
helmet of steel with one blow of his 
sword, and buried his weapon so deeply 
in the wooden post on which the heliri 
was placed, that no othef P^Non beside 
himself was able to witHdra^ \h 

It is an assertion of sir Qh^k Ou^eley, 
that the naib, or deputy of i\i4i vizier of 
the Nawaub of Oude, refused i(]l,6(j0l; for 
an Andrea Ferrara sttaijjrht bUd^^ b^^ 
cause it had cut off k\ie hedds Hf seT^fal 
buffaloes. He also fi|j^ft^<. that in the 
year 1794, the Na^aiib of Oude paid for 
a scimitar the ei^\>rnioU!j ^iid almost IH- 
credible sum of 24,0OO/. t Probably H 
wa« set with precious stories. 

The Turks greatly surp^fis aiders lii 
the use of the sciitiitdr, which i^eapori Is 
finely formed and tetii|iHed.. A Cut ttilidb 
by one of the spahi^j p Tufkisti cavalry, 
will penetrate throu|U Mftiibiii' and pass 
into the body, where^^ a slt-cike awkwarnly 
made would sbivel- the i^eiipdh tb pieces. 
What slaughter tnilst eiisue vdieri thou- 
sands of these sciiHItarii iti-e wielded in 
deadly combat by ttiO^t^ who know how 
to use them ! ii ik k spectstcle too ter- 
rible to dwell upon. Highly-teiiijiered 
scimitar:), though n(»t of ille Hil^st iiietul, 
will now fetch trurii teh to a hUiidred 
ducats, which plaihlj' shows the high 
estimation in wlilt^h they are held. 

When Elphi Bey was iti Etigl^ild, he^ 
as a matter of course, went to examine 
what was curious in the various collec- 
tions of antiquities in the metropolis and 
other places, among which was the king's 
extensive and valuable Asiatic armoury, 
where were laid before him two costly 
scimitars. Elphi Bey lifted oue of them 
to his forehead, with j)rofouiid reverence, 
and then pressing it to his lips, pro- 
nounced the name of Muurad Bey. He 
then took up the other, in the same re- 
spectful manner, paying to it the same 
homa>;e, and exclaiming aloud, ** Oaman 
Bey Tambourgil" Novv, us the words 
spoken by Elphi Bey were the names of 
the sometime owners of the scimitars, 
the king, who was present, was surprised, 
and much puzzled to conceive how he 
could tell to whom the weapons had 
belonged. This was, however, afterwards 
explained. Whenever a Mohammedan 
of high rank had a weapon made for him, 
he selected some favourite passage from 
thie Koran, which was engraven lijion it ; 

this passage designated its owner, in the 
same mann<*r as the motto on a coat of 
arms declares the family to which it 
belongs. Elphi Bey, therefore, found no 
difficulty in discovering the original 
Swneirs of the scimitars by the inscrip- 
tions hk saw engraven. 
, Ih Goodrich Court an apartment has 
b^eti fitted up representing an ancient 
tburqaitient. Two knights, armed cap- 
apt^; Mfe spii^ring in fiery haste at each 
otnfei'; \i^Kifi around are mail-clad war- 
ri<>^fl\ iliid ft tree, from whose branches 
hang the e^itiUuzoned shields of the com- 
biitants, A 4Utd on this ancient enter- 
tiiHmcnt hiii^ Interest our readers. It 

a as been revived more than once in mo- 
etn times. Tne ofiScers of the British 
^fmy, during the revolutionary war in 
North Amerledj found leisure to enter- 
i^in th^tiiselves witb (nis sport. Marie 
Antoinette, iHe ill-^t^d ijiieen of France, 
also had a ibuniMiii^iit fevived fof her 
gratiilcation by hef tiUiifU^rs. The Eglin- 
ton tilting-ttiutch, lii l^ciiiland, also, about 
ten years ago. ^ill be ifesti in the recol- 
lection of tiiiitif ot' (iur f^^ders. 

The rewatd^ |si^^H . fh tournaments 
were often vfef^ sp^tialoj and sometimes 
consisted of liil^er H^llilSb. Every com- 
batant ^kAi {"equired to be worthy of the 
privilege of coiiiending; and if any one 
pt'esented himself to fight under false 
proofs ot tinbiliti, hfe tj^as condemned jto 
t-ide. on the tail bf the barrier, bare- 
hedd^d ; he Was (l^efMd^d by having his 
shield and helmei fe^t-tsed arid trodden 
under foot, his ribrse given to the officer 
at artiis, and himself sent back upon a 

Though tournaments were considered 
as pastime, they were so dangerous that 
the powers of church and state were 
exerted to check them. The knights, 
however, of that period were so infatuated 
with the .splendour and pageantry of tour- 
nainents, that trhe urgent ordinances of 
councils, the eloquent harangues of pul- 
pits, and the forcible Wrinngs of the 
clergy were alike disregarded ; they 
checked not the enthusiastic paiision for 
this martial sport. 

It not utrfrequently occurs that excess 
does more to arrest the progress o( a 
mania than the most violent opposition; 
and this was, in a great degree, the case* 
with jousting. Henry ii. fdrbade th« 
practice altogether, while Richard i. en- 
deavoured to compromise by allowing It 
to take place in particular places, and at 
stated seasons. Different monarehs thus 



adopted a dififorent poKcj; H^ttT3r lit. 
overfooked joa»tmg, And £dwsrd i., on 
the contrary, afforded it his royal couu" 
tenaoce. Itk fullowing oat this eoartly 
atnuseinent, many preeautions were from 
time to time taken to render it less dan- 
gerous. Spears were used with blunted 
points ; swords formed of whalebone were 
introduced, as well as protections of thick 
tough leather ; but while these were re- 
sorted to in jousts of peaceable combat, 
the accustomed warlike weapons and 
habiliments were still ih requisition for 
encounters of a more desperate character, 
or ** to the nttetance," as they were 
termed in tournament phraseology. In 
the same mannto as a sham fight among 
soldiers is considered necessary to prepare 
them for actual watfare, so the diverfiified 
exereises in jousting were thought fit 
practice to train the young knight M 
feats of deadly enterprise; and for thi^ 
reasojti, among others, the armour usdd in 
tournaments was stronger and heavier 
than that irom in the hattle-field. 

When a totimament took place, the 
space railed out for the occasion was 
called " the lists," and the horses of the 
joustcnrs were kept apart hy a paling 
called " the harrier.** And as great mul- 
titudes tisually attended, double lists were 
ff'equetitly formed, that no accident might 
arise from the pressure of the crowd. The 
fleetest tfnd the strongest horses "irere 
selected for the toumay; for when the 
knights were nOt unhorsed, nor (heir 
lances broken, their steeds, one or hoth, 
were usually thrown down. It must 
have heen ft fearful spectacle to gaze on, 
when the knight, anned cap^ct-pie, \tas 
seen to 

" Stoop hU head and couch his spear, 
And spur his steed in full career." 

And well it is thai such cruel pageants 
are passed away. 

It would he a difficult tetsk to give evetl 
a slight sketch of the atms and armotnr of 
Goodrich Cobrt, the one and the other 
being so numerous. The great variety, 
too, gives the collection an added charm, 
for the wandering eye sees one suit of 
armour of black, or of russet hrown, an- 
other of bright steel ; a third is ribbed, a 
fourth fluted, a fifth chased, a sixth 
puffed and engraved, a seventh emhossed, 
mid an eighth inlaid. Then there is 
armour for so many difierent sorts of 
men ; knights, cavaliers, pikenlfen, cuir- 
assiers, hatquebusiers, ana carabineers,' 
and of such diversified kinds, Asiatic, 

I'urkish, Persian, and Mllfaratta,' chlrfii 
armour, plate armour, Tartar, Indian^ 
and Albanian. 

But if the armour is varied, the arms 
are still more so; Burmese, Japanese, 
Malay, and African meet the eye, with 
maces, battle-axes, halberds and ham- 
mers, swords, spears, cross-bows, and 
splendid targes of embossed leather and 
steel. The targe of Francis i. of France 
is, perhaps, the most exquisite piece of 
art in the whole collection. Roman and 
British arms ate contrasted with Danish, 
Saxon, and Germaii. Two-handed swords 
lie between morning stars and military 
forks; and sabres, poniards, and stilet« 
toes are mingled with muskets, match* 
locks, pettonels, and pistols. 

As we gaze on these relics of past ages^ 
even amid the strange and undefinable 
interest they excite, a mournful regret 
steals oter the mind, to think what pains 
have heen taken, what ingenuity ha^ 
been exerted by mankind to league, to 
injnre, and destroy each other. The hor- 
rors of Wfltr have in all ages been hidden 
or disguised by pomp and splendour. 
The patioply, the emblazoned arms and 
gorgeous equipage of knights, with the 
high renown they acquired, gave a false 
glory to the profession of arms ; as the 
scarlet dress, the flaunting flag, the drum, 
and the truralpet still invest with an im- 
posing iclat the life of the soldier. What 
a contrast, however, is there between the 
ungodly warrior, clad in steel, rushing 
ruthlessly on his kind, and the Christian 
warrior fighting against every unhallowed 
affection utidfer the banner of the cross. 
The one, stained with blood and crime, 
seeks only a perishing renown; the 
other, wielding the shield of faith and the 
sword of the Spirit, begirt with truth, 
having the helmet of salvation on his 
head, the breastplate of righteousness 
Over his heart, and his feet shod with the 
preparation of the gospel, strives for a 
crown of unfading glory. H, O. 


In the autumn of 1848, the writer left 
London in search of health. Continuous 
work in the service of his Great Master 
had somewhat enfeebled his strength, and 
it was deemed desirable that he should 
have two or three weeks entire rest. 
Arrangements were accordingly made for 
leaving home; and he, with his family, 




were safely conveyed, through God's 
ffood providence, to one of the quiet vil- 
lages in the West of England noted for 
health, and for richness and variety of 
scenery. The waters of the Bristol 
Channel washed its shores, hreezes of 
ocean fanned its hills, flocks covered its 
surrounding meadows, and hare fields 
told the tale of the husbandman's labour 
and reward. The plenteous weeks of 
harvest had been, and were passed ; the 
sickle had been used, the corn was 
gathered in; and the thresher, with his 
heavy-sounding flail, was doing his part 
towards supplying the miller with grain, 
and the eater with bread. The hedge berry 
was ripe, and little groups of children 
were seen in all directions attempting to 
pluck this field fruit which the God of 
nature had at that season so plentifully 
sent. The shepherd was tending his 
flock, the ploughman was turning up the 
■oil, and the woodman went merrily to 
his occupations. All nature seemed to 
be vocal with the Divine goodness, and 
to speak the Creator's praise. The bleat- 
ing of sheep, the lowing of oxen, the 
songs of birds, all testified of the great- 
ness and of the kindness of the Almighty. 
Sunshine and clouds, dews and showers, 
departing summer and approaching win- 
ter, were all pregnant with important 
lessons ; and it was scarcely possible for 
the mind to be otherwise than calm, de- 
vout, and thankful. The contrast of this 
pleasant retreat to the noisy walks which 
the writer had for many previous months 
been treading, was strikmg and instruc- 
tive ; and the change of air and pursuit 
having, after a few days, been greatly 
blessed, there were awakened in his mind 
pleasant and useful emotions, some of 
which still survive to cheer him in his 
pilgrimage, and to spur him on his work, 
the great work of endeavouring to win 
souls to Christ. Inhere was one train 
of reflections which at that time was 
peculiarly refreshing. As he thought of 
nature, with its beauties, laws, resources, 
and productions, the words of John and 
of Paul came to his mind. ** All things 
were made by him, and without him was 
not anything made that was made." 
*' By him were all things created that are 
in heaven, and that are in earth, visible 
and invisible, whether they he thrones, 
or dominions, or principalities, or powers : 
all things were created by him, and for 
him" — John i. 3, 4; Col. i. 16; so 
that, by the help of these, and of similar 
texts of Scripture, he was enabled to 

trace nature to nature's God, and to con- 
nect all created objects with Him, " who, 
being in the form of God, thought it not 
robbery to be equal with God : but made 
himself of no reputation, and took upon 
him the form of a servant, and was made 
in the likeness of men : and being found 
in fashion as a man, he humbled himself, 
and became obedient unto death, even 
the death of the cross," Phil. ii. 6—8. 
This was delightful. It brought before 
the mind the Saviour's essential God- 
head, and his infinite condescension and 
grace. The sun appeared to shine with 
brighter beams, and all earth seemed ar- 
rayed in beauties more striking and 
attractive than ever ; and never had the 
ninety-fifth Psalm been read with more 
interest and pleasure than it was perused 
then. ** O come, let us sing unto the 
Lord : let us make a joyful noise to the 
rock of our salvation. Let us come 
before his presence with thanksgiving, 
and make a joyful noise unto him with 
psalms. For the Lord is a great God, 
and a great King above all gods. In 
his hand are all the deep places of the 
earth ; the strength of the hills is his 
also. The sea is his, and he made it ; 
and his hand formed the dry land. O 
come, let us worship, and bow down : let 
us kneel before the Lord, our Maker. 
For he is our God ; and we are the people 
of his pasture, and the sheep of his 

But the narrative must he proceeded 
with. It was known that, within a short 
distance, there were hills of commanding 
height, and of various forms, so it was 
agreed to visit them ; and one morning 
of surpassing splendour and serenity they 
were ascended. The road leading to 
them was circuitous and uneven, but this 
only added interest to the ride. Several 
cottages were passed^ at the doors of 
which mothers were nursing, children were 
playing, and neighbours were freely con- 
versing. This afibrded an opportunity 
for scattering abroad the good word of 
the Lord; and tracts and little hooks, pub- 
lished by the Religious Tract Society, 
were distributed, and thankfully received. 
The seed was sown with prayer, and may 
it not he hoped that some of it fell into 
good ground? "My word," says God, 
"shall not return unto me void." At 
length we came to the village, which lies 
at the bottom, or just on the lower edge, 
of the hills that we were now to climb. 
A foot-path had been made, in staircase 
form, to one of the elevations on whidi 



we wished to place our feet; and the 
question arose whether we should tread 
its steps, or wind our way along the car- 
riage road. We determined on the 
latter, and we were afterwards most 
thankful for our choice. The road heing 
new to us, we were not aware of its 
character. It lay through the hills, ra- 
ther rocks, which, hy some mighty con- 
vulsions of nature, must have been rent 
in twain. On the right, almost in a per- 
pendicular form, of course rugged and 
angular, they rose to the height of several 
hundred feet ; whereas on the left, they 
were scattered in immense masses, just 
as they had fallen oiF from the other side, 
ages and ages ago. The whole scene was 
impressive ; and meditation, rather than 
conversation, was induced. Silence was 
frequently broken by poor and half- 
clothed children, and their mothers, who 
either wished to sell specimens of frag- 
mentary organic remains, or offered to 
conduct us to some points of interest, 
which they said would escape our notice, 
unless oiur attention were specially drawn 
to them. Be this as it might, whether 
by our own curiosity, or by their impor- 
tunity, in one or two instances we yielded, 
and were amply recompensed for the out- 
lay of a few pence. 

And now for the flower on the rock, one 
of the most suggestive objects that caught 
the eye. In glancing at these wonderful 
formations of nature, and while en- 
couraging, rather than suppressing, the 
thoughts which a sight of them was so well 
calcmated to awaken, I happened to look 
in a certain direction, and there I saw, 
springing out of the rock, a beautiful, 
delicate little flower. Had I seen it in 
the field, or in the garden, it would not, 
I dare say, have attracted my attention. 
But as it grew on a small ledge of rock, 
and as it was there alone, as this was the 
only sign of vegetation on that particular 
spot, and as its form and colours, for such 
a place, were graceful and beautiful, it 
did strike me, and, for a time, riveted 
my attention. A flower on a rock, 
thought I, bow could it grow without 
soil? how could the soil have been formed 
there ? who could have planted, or sown 
the seed of it there? The soil might 
have been deposited there by the wind, 
and a bird might have dropped the seed. 
How wonderful are the works of the Most 
High, and in how many ways does he 
display his power and glory ! The rocks 
praise him, and a solitary flower reads 
lectures of wisdom to his creatures. Let 

me just state some of the thoughts and 
feelings which this rock flower called up 
in my mind ; and which this brief notiet 
of it is calculated to awaken in yours. 

As to God, this flower on the rock re- 
minds us of his power and goodness. 
He only could have made it, and have 
caused it to grow. And he who did this 
is worthy of your love and confidence. 
He is all-wise, and almighty, and all- 
gracious. He can do what he will in 
heaven ahove, and on the earth beneath ; 
but he always does what is right. And 
what has he not done that his sinful 
creatures might be blessed in time and 
in eternity? He gave his well-beloved 
Son to die for them. He has given the 
Holy Scriptures to enlighten them. He 
has promised the Holy Spirit to renew 
and sanctify them. And he is providing 
a glorious kingdom for all his believing, 
loving, and obedient children, in another 
werld. ** Behold," exclaimed John, 
'' what manner of love the Father hath 
hestowed upon us, that we should be 
called the sons of God!" 1 John iii. 1. 
He finds us enemies, and he makes us 
friends. We are under condemnation, 
and he delivers us from it. The human 
heart is like a rock — hard, barren, with- 
out BoU, and incapable, in its natural 
state, of yielding fruit ; but God can 
change it and render it productive of the 
fruits of righteousness, which are by 
Jesus Christ to his own praise and glory. 
And here is the sinner's encouragement 
to trust his grace, and to obey his will. 

Then this flower on the rock rehukes 
man for his rebellion against God. Oh, 
impenitent sinner, think of this little 
blooming creature, and be humbled — for 
grows there in your heart a single flower 
for God ? Alas I not one. God cared for 
you in infancy, watched you in childhood, 
protected you in youth, and guided you up 
to manhood, and yet you have made no 
suitable returns to him for his coutinued 
kindness. He has fed, clothed, and nou- 
rished you, from day to day, and from 
year to year — preserving you from dan- 
gers, supporting you in afilictions, and 
yet you nave not been truly grateful ; on 
the contrary, you have, perhaps, mur- 
mured against him, neglected his word, 
broken his sabbaths, set at nought his 
counsels, and spurned the gracious offers 
of his saving mercy. But though you 
have done this, and are still doing it, 
God has not cut you down in your lolly, 
and consigned you to everlasting despair. 
He allows you still to live. Still he waits 



10 be gracious. AgmL and again daes 
h? call you to repientance, and to faitli in 
\m dear Son. He bears with your pro- 
vocations. He balds out to you the 
seeptre of bis grace. He commands you 
to forsake the foolisl^ and to go in the 
vay of understanding* He speaks by 
poverty, by affliction, by the loss of busi- 
ness, by success in business, by death, 
by his word, by his sabbaths, by his 
ministers, by his Spirit, and yet you will 
^ot hear. The ro^ bears a flower to 
gratify. the passing traveller, but your 
heart is without love to God, you have 
no faith in Christ, you have pever yielded 
to the Hdy S|»rit; vmi are carnal, 
worldly, sensual, devilish; yon have not 
lived to the Lord; you have withheld 
firom him the glory which is his due* 
You have preferred the pleasures of rin, 
which are but for a season, to the joys of 
his salvation, which last for ever. 
Throughout the whole of your past life, 
you have nev&c formed a purpose, or per- 
formed a deed, with the direct object of 
pleasing God, yomr best Friend, and your 
kind Benefactor. Oh, sinner, what a heart 
yours must be ! One upward glance of 
the traveller was enough to enable him to 
discern the flower on the rock. Though 
small, it was fresh and blooming, and 
formed a striking contrast to the barren- 
ness around it ; it caught the eye when 
ihe eye looked not for it But though 
God has looked on you, and within you, 
if happily there might be some stirrings 
of thought about him, and some indica- 
tions of sorrow for having so long for- 
gotten him, yet to this day he has not 
seen what he might have expected to 
find. After all that he has done for you, 
and said to you, your heart is a rock 
without one sweet flower growing upon 
it. Oh, is it not high time that you cast 
oiF the love of sin, that you ceased to 
pursue the vanities of the world, and that 
you earnestly sought the grace of God, 
which alone can save you? The rock 
was not the worse for the flower, and your 
heart, if Christ be formed in it, the hope 
of glory, will be far happier than it can 
possibly be if it be deceived by sin and 
Satan. Listen, therefore, to the entrea- 
ties of a friend, who, for your own sake, 
for the sake of your connexions, and, 
above all, for the Lord's sake, beseeches 
you to be reconciled to God, through the 
death of his Son. While the flower on 
the rock rebukes you, may the grace of 
Christ sanctify and save you. 
There are other persons to whom the 

flower on the rock £^peals, and who aea 
hereby entreated to attend. Our Lord 
Jesus told his doubting disciples to con- 
sider the lilies of the fleld, for the pur- 
pose of learning the confidence to which 
he was entitled, and the hope which it 
was their privilege to cherish. See Matt 
vL 25 — 34. And the individuals now 
exhorted to consider tbe flower on the 
rock are these who have been favoured 
with the means of grace, and yet have 
not profited by them. The children of 
eo^y parents, apprentices and servants 
m Christian families, sabbath- school 
children, those to whom the gospel of 
Christ is faithfully and constantly 
preached, those at whose houses the 
agents of District-Visiting and Christian 
Instruction Societies leave religious tracts, 
those flimilies of which city and town 
missionaries have charge, and who, week 
after week and day after day, teach the 
Lord Jesus and the resurrection from 
house to house, warning every man and 
teaching every man, that they may pre- 
sent every man perfect in Christ Jesus. 
Some of these individuals, and of these 
classes, have more advantages than others, 
and if they perish in their sins their con- 
demnation will be proportionally great; 
but to all of them the word of salvation 
is sent, so that none are widiout excuse. 
Reader, are you among them ? Then on 
you the lessons of the rock flower may 
with propriety be urged. For does it not 
chide you for your misimprovement of 
privileges, and for your Christian fruit- 
lessness? The flower can and does grow 
on a rock, contrary to the natural order 
of things. But though you are placed 
where true religion is originated, and 
where it flourishes, and where circum- 
stances and influences are favourable to 
growth in grace, yet what has your heart 
produced ? The flowers or fruits of the 
Spirit? No — not one has yet appeared. 
The heart is still a barren, a flowerless 
rock; and unless a great change take 
place in you, such it will remain ; and 
after having been spared, by God's 
mercy, for thirty, forty, fifty, and even 
seventy years, you will die without 
bringing any glory to Christ, and with- 
out any hope of receiving the kingdom 
which he has promised to all who love 
him. Think, oh think of this, and think 
seriously. . A fruitless soul cannot enter 
heaven when it dies, nor can it have the 
approbation of the Judge in the last great 
day. You must be born again, or you 
cannot be saved. If justified, it must be 



hy feAih alone, without works : " Other 
foundation can no man lay than th«t ia 
laid, which is Jeaus Christ," 1 Cor. iii. 
11. But though good works cannot, 
either in whole or in part, aave you, yet 
they are the evidences of a saved state, 
which cannot be dispensed with. Those 
that helieve in Chri«t to the saliratipn of 
^eix souls, love his commandments and 
do tliem. So that where there is no 
spiritual obedience, there is neitlier faith 
nor love. Godly fruits prove the exists 
ence of a godly life ; and the more 
healthful the life is, the more abundant 
the fruit will be. And there are Chris- 
tiana who, though once as barren as a 
rock without a flower, are now like a 
garden in a high state of cultivation. 
Having experienced an internal radical 
change-^the stony heart having been 
taken away, and the heart of flesh having 
been given — the entire surface of their 
character is -changed; whereas others, 
with just their outward advuitages, are 
unchanged and unblessed. Not a soli- 
tary flower do they bear, upon which 
eitber Christ or his people can cast a 
complacent eye. Dewf*j sunbeams, and 
lowers have fallen around them, but all 
in vain. They were cold and dead years 
ago, and they are so still. Labour and 
culture upon tbem has been thrown 
away. Parental counsels have been on- 
heeded. Pastoral appeals have not been 
responded to. The afltrctionate and 
fai^ful missionary has prayed and 
exhorted, but neither tears nor entrea* 
ties have prevailed. The tract distri- 
hutqr has often urged attentioii to the 
wants and claims of the soul, but often 
and often has his kind advice been treated 
with indifference. ** O Lord, what is 
man!" and what are the means>«mpluyed 
for his benefit, without thine effectual 
blessing ! 

Reader, whether old or young, master 
or servant, rich or poor, w»ll you not 
learn of the rock that bears a flower, and 
profic by ttie reflections which it bas sug- 
goittedf And as all are dependent on 
the Holy Spir»t for light and life, strength 
and wbidom, will you not seek grace of 
him to enable you to practise the lessons 
which he has now been teaching you ? 
"Do not fail to do this, and do it ear- 
nestly and sincerely. Hear the words 
of Christ to his disciples, who had re- 
quested him to teach them how to pray : 
'^ Ask, and it shall be given you : seek, 
and ye shall find ; knock, and it shall be 
opened unto you.«— If ye, then, being evil, 

know how to give good gifts unto youf 
children: how much more shall your 
heavenly Fal^r give the Holy Spirit to 
them that ask biin,'' Luke xi. 9-^18. 




Oke circumstance that has parti^- 
larly struck us in connexion with this 
noble enterprise, is the spirit of reveren^ 
tial reliance on the superintending eare 
of God with which some, at least, of the 
adventurers have pursued their mission. 
The necessity for the interpositions and 
guidance of Providence has been recog- 
nised in the midst of their most arduous 
and intrepid labours, tt is gratifying to 
meet with passages similar to the follow- 
tng, in the recent work of Mr. Snow, one 
of the voluntary offleers on board the 
** Prince Albert." After describing, with 
a sailor's doting enthusiasm, the capa- 
bilities of his barque, and the numerous 
presentations made to it by warm*hearted 
fViends, he adds:-— "One great essential 
aqoong the preliminaries must not be 
forgotten. No man, who is himself a 
safi<>r, but must feel convinced that there 
is nothing to equal true, earnest, unaf- 
fected, and hearUelt religion. Prayer-— 
honest prayer — is, beyond everything, 
valuable to a seaman, especially to one 
engaged in the dangerous duties which 
he has to perform in the Arctic Seas. 
That we should go out with a due regard 
to this important obligation to prayer 
and humble dependence upon God, was 
what every one might cont^ider as a mat* 
ter of course ; but I am pleased to say 
that, in our case, the ' of course ' was 
never needed. Spontaneously our men 
called for prayer and a proper service* 
Educated in the Scotch church, they were 
all, more or less, Presbyterians ; but their 
particular per»ua8ion was no hindrance 
to the feeling which prompted them 
always to unite in Divine worship ac- 
cording to whatever form the commander 
considered necessary to adopt." 

Before the final embarkation of the 
seamen of the " Prince Albert," upon 
whose fidelity and courage so many fond 
hopes were built, lady Franklin conde- 
scendingly sought an interview with these 
brave fellows, — a privilege by them half 
dreaded, half coveted, from the affecting 
associations it was calculated to awaken 



and intensify. StUl such a step, on the 
part of her ladyship, was characterized 
at once hy gracefulness and wisdom. It 
afforded her an opportunity to testify her 
warm and grateful appreciation of their 
prospective services, whilst the memory 
of that parting scene would he sure to 
haunt them ever after, and would prove 
hoth an inspiration and a solace to their 
minds. "She called them severally/' 
says Mr. Snow, " into the cahin on the 
evening prior to our departure, and talked 
to them earnestly concerning the object 
of the voyage, and their conduct ; and 
this they never afterwards forgot, fre- 
quently saying to me, in the homely 
Scotch I cannot literally give, * Ah, bless 
her heart I dear lady. 1 only hope we 
shall find sir John for her sake. I'll do 
my best towards it!' and occasionally 
adding, * Well, I was completely taken 
aback when her ladyship talked to me. 
I felt salt water in my eyes before I had 
gone a dozen words with her, and wasn't 
a bit sorry when it was all over. I'd like 
to talk with her, but I couldn't stand 

On Wednesday, June 5th, this gallant 
little schooner, freighted with a rich 
cargo of human hopes and blessings, 
was declared ready for sea. But it was 
not destined to leave amid the indiffer- 
ence of the citizens of the old Scottish 
capital. From early morning, crowds of 
persons, either friends and kindred of the 
outward-bound seamen, or of those already 
far away onboard absent whalers and other 
discovery ships, besides a mixed multi- 
tude interested solely in the object of the 
prospective voyage, congregated on the 
quay. As the day wore on the throng 
grew more dense and excited. All man- 
ner of opinions were expressed, and difil* 
cult problems connected with the expe- 
dition discussed. Many ventured on 
board, some of them to scrutinize the 
equipments of the ship, and others — the 
wives and friends of those then in the 
Arctic Seas — to deliver, with their own 
hands, into the custody of the responsible 
officers, those epistolary remembrancers 
which so affectionately record the un- 
ceasing devotion of the loved ones left 
lonelily at home. As the tide flowed in, 
and the vessel slowly moved off, friendly 
shoutings and benedictions filled the ver- 
nal air. " That is lady Franklin's own 
vessel, which she is sending out to search 
for her husband!" exclaimed some; — 
" Success to the * Prince Albert!' " voci- 
ferated many; and "May you return 

safe and prosperous ! " was the blessing 
pronounced by others, whose hearts 
bounded with gratitude and gladness for 
the mission thus undertaken. 

Following the fortunes of the " Prince 
Albert," we meet with nothing of special 
interest until after Cape Farewell had 
been rounded. Beyond this, keeping 
near to the Greenland coast, the indica- 
tions of arctic rigours thickened around 
the adventurers from da^ to day. Their 
clothing had to be increased. Huge ice* 
bergs, sometimes solitarily, but often in 
menacing groups, came sailing south- 
wards, as if in quest of more propitious 
skies. The elements grew more stormy, 
and the scenery, both on land and sea, 
assumed an aspect of greater austerity. 

On nearing the first great stream of 
ice, the "crow's-^est" — a kind of nau- 
tical observatofy — was installed at the 
• mast-head of the schooner. This curious 
object, so indispensable in arctic naviga- 
tion, consisted of a light cask, of sufficient 
capacity to contain and shelter the look* 
out mariner. At the lower part of it was 
a trap, acting like a valve, through which 
any one could enter. Its length was 
about four feet, whilst the interior of it 
was provided with a small seat, slung to 
the hinder part, and a spy-glass well 
secured. This elevation was reached by 
means of a rope-ladder affixed to the 
bottom of it, usually designated ** Jacob's 
ladder." The "crow's-nest" is a favo- 
rite place with many whaling captaio?, 
who are rarely out of it for days when 
among the ice. On this dizzy and in- 
commodious pinnacle Mr. Snow spent 
much of his time, especially the hours of 
his midnight watch, when the atmosphere 
was clear, being richly recompensed by 
the glimpses he thus caught of the pass- 
ing panorama of arctic scenery, as exhi- 
bited in all its wild beauty and massive 
monotonous grandeur. 

After being entangled for some time in 
the fearful labyrinth of Icebergs and ice- 
hummocks which render Melville Bay 
so terrible to the arctic navigator, the 
** Prince Albert " at length overtook the 
"Felix," and, at a subsequent period^ 
the splendid outfit of government under 
captain Austin. By the steamers belong- 
ing to the latter, the smaller vessels were 
towed, through a passage of three hun- 
dred miles, to Lancaster Sound. At this 
stage of the conjoint expedition, informa- 
tion of the most terrible and harrowing 
interest was imparted by some natives to 
Adam, the Esquimaux interpreter of sir 



Jobs Ross, which threw the whole body 
of explorers into the utmost consternation 
and perpkxity. 

It had been remarked that, afler his 
communication with the natives, Adam 
appeared extremely restless and disin- 
clined to talk with strangers. He, how- 
ever, got into earnest conversation with 
John Smith, the steward of the " Prince 
Albert," to whom he was somewhat 
attached^ and to whom he unburdened 
his mind of a dreadful tale concerning 
some lost vessels that had been imparted 
to him. The commanders on board were 
immediately put in possession of the 
alarming details, so far as they could be 
understood ; and Adam was at once sub- 
jected by them to an anxioos re-examinar 
tion, from which the following exciting 
particulars were gathered. Taking a 
piece of chalk, he wrote u|>on the gun- 
whale of the ship, in a clear hand, the 
figures " 1846," next tracing beside 
them " 1850" — at the same time inti- 
mating, in broken English, that the latter 
was the then present year, and that 1846 
was the year to which his story referred. 
Ue then went on to state, that in that 
year two vessels, with officers having 
gold bands on their caps, and other in- 
signia of the. naval uniform, had been 
in some way or ether destroyed in 
that neighbourhood ; that the crews were 
ultimately much enfeebled, and, after 
much hardship and suffering, encamping 
by themselves in tents, and not commu- 
nicating with the unfriendly natives, were 
all brutally massacred. This was the 
horrible substance of the tedious state- 
ment elicited, the seeming truth of which 
was confirmed by many corroborating 
circumstances. Several fresh examina- 
tions were made, but no deviation from 
the former details was detected. 

As the dire intelligence extended from 
vessel to vessel, the intense excitement it 
created may be well conceived. Every 
one wished it false, yet secretly, from the 
apparent clearness of the evidence, feared 
it was too true. It obviously could not 
refer to whalers, since officers' insignia 
were expressly mentioned; besides, it 
was not known that any whale ships had 
been missing. Measures were imme- 
diately set on foot by the commanders to 
investigate the circumstances by opening 
a fresh communication with the natives 
through Petersen, a Danish interpreter. 
The inquiry happily ended in the disproof 
of the more formidable parts of the story. 
The only foundation for it appears to 

have consisted in the circumstance that 
the exploring vessel called the ** North 
Star " had wintered at Wolstenholme 
Sound durinff the past winter, and that 
one man had been killed by a fall from 
the cliffii. Thus, on tracing it to its 
source, the whole of this marvellous and 
exciting legend dissolved into thin air, 
leaving but a small residuum of fact 

The cerfectnesa of this result, affording 
so much negative satisfaction to all par- 
ties, was subsequently corroborated by 
the discovery of supposed traces of the 
missing expedition farther westward. As 
the ** Prince Albert" neared Cape Riley, 
in Wellington Straits, a signal-post was 
discerned on the point. An examina- 
tion-party, directed by Mr. Snow, was 
immediately despatched ashore. A flag 
was found iiying on the post, and a cylin- 
der, containing a despatch, was attached 
to it With hands trembling with eager- 
ness Mr. Snow extracted the document, 
which contained a certificate of the visit 
of her majesty's searching expedition on 
the 23rd of August, and mentioned the 
discovery of traces of an encampment, 
both there and on Beeohey Island. Cap- 
tain Omanney had also collected the 
remains of materials which evidently 
proved that some party belonging to her 
majesty's ships had been detained on the 
spot. Stimulated and guided by this ray 
of hope, a rigid search was at once insti- 
tuted, to see if any undiscovered token 
had escaped the scrutiny of their prede- 
cessors. In a short time, a small, square 
piece of canvass, well bleached ; a piece 
of rope, which was found to bear the 
Chatham Dockyard navy mark ; a piece 
of bone, with a hole bored through, toge- 
ther with beef bones, and other unmis* 
takeable indications of the place having 
been used within some very few years by 
a party of Europeans, were picked up or 
observed. '^ The ground," says Mr. Snow, 
''presented very much the appearance of 
having been turned into an encampment; 
ibr certain stones were so placed as to 
lead to the inference that tents had been 
erected within some of their inclosures. 
Four of these circular parcels of stones I 
counted, and observed another, which 
might or might not have been a fifth. 
It was clear that a party belonging to 
some of her majesty's ships hi^ been 
there ; and as there was no one from any 
vessel who had landed there since the 
time when sir £. Parry sent an officer on 
shore to make observations, in 1819, it 



could not but reasonably be inferred tbat 
it was sir J. FraDklin's expedition that 
had encamped here and on Beechey Is- 
land." Since the public announcement 
of these facts, the conviction expressed 
by those most competent to form an opi- 
nion is, tbat the lost navigators landed 
there to make magnetic observations — the 
circumstance of no written record of their 
visit having been left of them being strong 
evidence that the expedition was then in a 
prosperous condition, and that sir John 
purposed proceeding on his mission to- 
wards Cape Waiker. This was evidently 
captain Omanney's impression, for that 
officer's ship was last seen by the retreatr 
ing "Albert" pushing onwards through a 
lane of water towards Cape Hotham. 

The precious relics to which reference 
has been made, and to which so much 
importance attaches, have, since their 
arrival in England, been subjected to 
scientific examination, the result of which 
is perfectly coincident with the opinions 
just expressed. 

It was excessively vexatious and tan- 
talizing, on discovering these vestiges of 
their fugitive countrymen, to be com- 
pelled, just when their hopes were excited 
to the highest pitch of enthusiasm, to 
relinquish the search and return. We 
can well understand the bitterness of the 
disappointment bewailed by Mr. Snow. 
But navigation was every day becoming 
more difficult, which rendered it neces- 
sary to hasten their departure, leaving to 
the government expedition the boncmi* of 
com pif^ ting that chain of discovery the 
iirst link of which was already in their 
hands. The reason that the ** Prince 
Albert" did n( t winter in Uegent Inlet, 
as was priginally intended, whs to be 
found m the unhappy state of discipline 
which prevailed among some of the offi- 
cers, and that rendered captain Forsyth's 
position very unpleanant. Favoured with 
a succession of propitious winds, the 
vessel had a rapid ton from Wellington 
Channel to Cape Farewell, and on the 
Ist of October arrived at Aberdeen, with- 
out having, during a period of tive month?, 
so much a8 once cast anchor. On ap- 
proaching the coast of Scotland, two dan- 
gers presented themselves — the one, the 
^un Bocky about fifteen miles off Cape 
Wratky and the other, some rocks close 
in to the cape itself. These perilous cir- 
cumstances were suggestive of pious re- 
flections to the author's mind. " To avoid 
the danger of the Nun Bock,'* he says, 
" it was only necessary to keep dose in 

witk Gape Wrath; bifl^ until we oould 

Eerceive the liobt ujf)OH U, we could 
ardty determine how to do so with a 
nkety. At aeven, p.m., however, it was 
descried, shining aqaidst the d^i^eas 
around like a beautiful star of the nighty 
set in the bleak heavens to guide the 
weary mariner home to his haven of reat 
—emblem of that more glorious Star 
which pointa to the burdened and aiii- 
laden voyager of life 'a stprmy seas — tbat 
peaceful harbour where neither the rocjcs 
of error nor the ^hoals of adversity emt 
to endanger the worn-out bark that haa 
trustingly taken shelter there." 

Meanwhile, of 'the los^ voyagers no- 
thing certain baa been traced. I^he relics 
just alluded to clearly indicate that, at 
the point where they were fpund» a pariy 
from sir John Franklin's expedition had 
lan4ed. It is greatly to be regretted 
tbat no written notice, as is ordered, we 
believe, by the Admiralty to be done in 
such cases, was left behuid by the voyagers 
to indicate their future route. We shall 
watch, however, with deep interest the 
next communications from the Arctic 
Seas, trusting that the link of evidence 
now gained, feeble as it is, may lead to 
results which shall terminate the painful 
uncertainty that prevails as to the fate 
of our gallan t cotmtry men . 

J. A. Q. 


It is not so much the money that 
drunkenness wastes as the misery it pro- 
duces-^the domestic, temporal, and eter- 
nal misery — which most 6f all appals ns. 
As to the expense of this vice, ^reat as it 
19, that we least deplore ; for the losis of 
money, we hatd it least. On the con- 
trary, we should be content were the 
money and the vice to perish together. 
We shoold be content to pay that hun- 
dred million as yearly tribute, would tliis 
enemy to God and man, thin foe to our 
peace and piety, leave these shores. We 
wish to keep, and were it possible to get 
back, something far more precious than 
money. Give that mother back her son, 
as he was on the day when he returned 
from his father's grave, and in all the 
afft-ction of his uncorrnpred boyhood, 
walked to the house of God with a 
widowed weeping woman leaning on his 
arm. Give thai grieved man back his 
brother as innocent and happy as in those 
days when the boys, twined in each 
other's arms, returned from school, bent 



over the same BiUe, slept in the same 
bed, and never thought that the day 
would cpme when brother should blush for 
brother. Give this weeping wife, who 
sits before us wringing her hands in 
agony, the tears dripping through her 
jewelled Angers, and the Unes of sorrow 
prematurely drawn on her beautiful 
brow, give her back the man ^e loved) 
such as he was when her young heart 
was won, when they stood side by side on 
the nuptial day, and receiving her from 
a fond father's hands, he promised his 
love to one whose heart he has broken, 
and whose once graeei'ul form now bends 
with sorrow to the ground. Give me 
back, as a man, the friends of my youth- 
ful days, whose wrecks now lie thick on 
this wreck-strewn Bh(»re. Give me back, 
as a minister, the brethren whom I have 
seen dragged from the pulpits which they 
adorned, and driven from the sweet 
manses where we have closed in the 
happy evening with praise and prayer, 
to stand pale and haggard at a public 
bar. Give me back as a pastor, the 
lambs which I have lost — ^ive me her, 
yrho in the days of unsullied innocence, 
waited on our ministry to be told the way 
to heaven, and warned from that of hell, 
and whose unblushing forehead we now 
ahrink to see as she prowls through the 
streets for her prey. Give me back 
tiie life of this youth who died the 
drunkard's death — and dread his doom 
-—and who now, while his mother by the 
body, rocks on her chair in speechless 
agony, lies laid out in a chamber where 
we dare not speak of comfort, but are 
left to weep with those who weep, " dumb 
opening not the mouth." Relieve us of 
tie fears that lie heavy on our hearts for 
the character and the souls of some who 
bold parley with the devil by this forbid 
den tree, and are floating on the outer edge 
of that great gulf-stream, which sweeps 
its victims onwards to most woful ruin. 
Could this be done, we would not talk of 
money. The hundred millions which 
drink costs this land is not to be weighed 
or even mentioned with this. Hearts 
are broken which no money can heal. 
Kachel is *• weeping for her children," 
refusing to be comforted. — Gtdhr%e*s 
Plea on behalf of Drunkards and against 

It not only points up to the mysterious 
heights of Divine love, but down to the 
depths of sin in the human heart. 


Seldom has any subject awakened so 
much curiosity, or excited so general an 
interest, as that of the Great Exhibition. 
Ever since it became a great reality, it 
has been winning its way in public esti* 
mation. Many, who at one time regarded 
it with dislike and fear, now see that it 
is wiser to twu it to good account than 
to influlge in useless, if not unreasonable 
forebodings. Having a choice, we think 
Uiere is an advanta'ge in walking on the 
sunny side of the Crystal Palace : 

A bright and joyous hope jn every spliere, 
Is better than a dark foreboding fear. 

In a preceding paper, we endeavoured 
to set forth the eaergetic influence which 
this great national enterprise has called 
into being ; we will now attempt to show 
that another of its effects will be a con- 
siderable increase of knowledge of dif- 
ferent kinds. A greater mistake could 
hardly be made than that of regarding 
the Crystal Palace aa a huge show, to be 
gazed upon and forgotten. The tempo- 
rary pleasure it may afford may possibly 
prove one of its least advantages. 

A great accession of knowledge has, 
even noW) been attained with respect to 
the suitability of iron and glass in the 
erection of edifices of an extended kind. 
Never before has so much experience on. 
this subject been attained in so limited a 
space — experience that is likely to be of 
the most practical kind. 

The great advantage of miiformity has 
been rendered very conspicuous. Had 
tlie columns, the girders, the bearers, and 
the panes of glass of the Crystal Palace 
been diverse from each oth^r, and of 
different dimensions, the edifice could 
nevf r have been raised with that rapidity 
which has distinguished its erection. 

Additional knowledge has been gained 
with regard to the strength of iron girders, 
bearers, trusses, and cylindrical pillars, 
when applied to buildings. Already has 
science won the confidence of the public 
by testing the strength of the galleries of 
the Crystal Palace. Some fears having 
been expressed on this head, the follow- 
mg interesting trial took place, in the 
presence of her majesty, prince Albert^ 
and the youthful members of the royal 

From experiments made by Mr. Brunei 
and other engineers, it has been ascer- 
tained that, even by picking heavy men, 



and squeezing tbem into the smallest 
compass on a platform, a pressure of a 
hundred weight per square foot cannot 
be obtained. The galleries of the Crystal 
Palace will endure a very much greater 
load. A temporary platform having been 
erected, of the same strength as the gal- 
leries, that it might be thoroughly tried ; 
three hundred workmen stood upon it, 
ran over it, and jumped upon It together, 
without doing it the slightest mjury. 
After this, the whole of the corps of 
Royal Sappers and Miners on the ground 
marched over it in close column, marking 
time with their feet in the most trying 
manner. Notwithstanding this severe 
test, the vibration of the platform did not 
exceed that of an ordinary London house 
when an evening party is assembled. 
After this trial, another, still more severe, 
took place, with 252 cannon-balls — 68- 
pounders — but the flooring well endured 
the test. 

Both the dimensions of the Crystal 
Palace, and the extent of business its 
existence has occasioned, are of the most 
colossal character. The size of the edi- 
fice is three times that of the far-famed 
Coliseum at Rome, and five times that 
of the building used some years ago for 
the industrial exhibition of France. On 
the day when the intending exhibitors 
sent in their specifications of what they 
purposed to show, for the catalogue, the 
executive committee received in the fore- 
noon no less than ** four bushels of let- 

Much knowledge will be derived from 
the erection of so large and splendid a 
building as the Crystal Palace respecting 
the strength of glass and iron in resisting 
the wind and heat of the sun, as well as 
in regard to expansion, contraction, damp, 
ventilation, temperature, decoration, ad- 
justment of light, safety from fire, and 
other things ; and this knowledge will be 
in active operation in different parts of 
the world long after the edifice in Hyde- 
park shall cease to be. 

But see how the crowds are thickening 
westward. Pleasure, in her flaunting 
dress ; Haste, with his winged feet ; and 
Curiosity, with her eager eye. Rosy 
Health, laughing Joy, and happy-faced 
Holiday are all together. Lightbearted- 
ness, as he moves onward, hums a tune ; 
Reflection knits his brow; Style dashes up 
to the Crystal Palace in his curricle and 
pair ; Rank descends from her coroneted 
carriage; and even old Mammon has 
treated himself with a cab all the way 

from the Stock Exchange to the Great 

Most people have felt, on visiting an 
exhibition of a novel character, the irk- 
someness of being ignorant. In such a 
case, we lose not only our confidence, 
but our self-esteem. We have an impres- 
sion that those around us are better in- 
formed than ourselves, and we inwardly 
resolve, by increasing assiduity in obtain- 
ing knowledge, to protect ourselves from 
being again placed in so painful a situa- 
tion. Something of this kind will doubt- 
less take place in the minds of thousands 
on visiting the Crystal Palace. Ignorance 
will be found to be a burden, not only 
when inspecting the raw materials, ma- 
chinery, manufactures, and fine arts col- 
lected together, but also when afterwards 
conversing upon them. 

Speaking generally, we are most of us 
sadly ignorant of the different products 
of the earth, the sea, the mine, and the 
mountain that contribute to our use, our 
comfort, and our pleasure. We know 
but little of those implements, instru- 
ments, and machines on which our ma- 
nufactures, our philosophical knowledge, 
and our success in agriculture much de- 
pend. Not one in ten of us can say, with 
truth, that we are well acquainted with 
cotton, woollen, silk, and velvet stuffs 
— hardware, jewellery, and ornamental 
work ; nor one in a hundred justly lay 
claim to a correct taste and correct judg- 
ment in sculpture, carvings, models, mo- 
saics, and enamels. In all these depart- 
ments of knowledge, the little we know 
may be considerably increased by the 
exciting influences of the Great Exhi- 

An addition to knowledge in regard to 
languages is sure to take place ; foreigners 
will increase what they know of English, 
and impart, wherever they reside, some- 
what of their own tongues. These germs 
of information, in many cases, will spread 
and fructify, and the wish to acquire lan- 
guages will increase. The very inscrip- 
tions at the Great Exhibition will have a 
tendency to promote this desire. A pro- 
hibition against smoking in the Crystal 
Palace is thus announced in German, 
French, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, and 
English ; — 

** Das rauchen wird nicht eriaubt. 
II n'est pas permis de fumer. 
Non 6 permesso di fumares. 
No es permitido fumar. 
Nad he permitido fumar. 
No smoking allowed." 

The very sight of human beings whose 



dresfl, language, customs, manners, and 
religion are differeut to our own, will 
awaken within us a desire to know more 
about them, aud we shall find ourselves 
collecting information from ** men and 
books" that will extend our acquaintance 
with our fellow man. If the love of 
mankind is not increased — if the bond of 
brotherhood is not strengthened by the 
great gathering of all nations, one of its 
principal advantages will be lost. 

Knowledge will not only be increased 
with us, but also with those who come 
among us from distant lands ; for though 
inany may be thoughtless, some will be 
thoughtful, and profit by a visit to our 
religious and benevolent institutions. And 
then, again, to say nothing of St. Paul's 
and Westminster Abbey, the Tower, the 
Thames Tunnel, the Botanical and Zoo- 
logical Gardens, the Dioramas, Pano- 
ramas, National Gallery, Royal Aca- 
demy, Polytechnic Institution, and other 
sources of interest and information, the 
following, among other museums, will 
amplify the knowledge of their number- 
less visitants: — The British Museum, 
East India Museum, Soane Museum, 
London Missionary Museum, London 
Antiquities, Asiatic Society, London Geo- 
logical Society, Entomological, College 
of Surgeons, Medical Museum and Ana- 
tomical. To inspect these with any 
degree of interest, and not feel a thirst 
after knowledge, appears to be impos- 
sible. With many foreigners, their visits 
to the Great Exhibition will be important 
eras in their lives ; and it may be as a 
seed sown in their hearts, springing up 
into knowledge, usefulness, and bro- 
therly love. 

But there is a still more important way 
in which the great gathering may extend 
knowledge abroad in the earth. It may 
be, — for though our hearts and house- 
holds are not so right with God as they 
ought to be, nor our sabbaths and sanc- 
tuaries kept free from worldly-mindedness 
and grievous errors, yet ** to th^Lord our 
God belong mercies and forgivenesses," — 
it may be that, when the stranger shall be 
within our gates, a witness of our supe- 
rior spiritual privileges, and a partaker 
of our purer worship, that his heart may 
be opened by the Holy Spirit, savingly 
to understana the Scriptures of truth. 
He may come among us a prayerless 
scoffer, and return to his native land a 
praying believer, so that the Great Exhi- 
bition may be one among those many 
tbings which shall work together for 

I good in bringing about that day when 
*'' the earth shall be full of the knowledge 
of the Lord, as the waters cover the sea," 
Isa. xi. 9. That eventful day will come, 
for the word of the Lord has proclaimed 
it, and faith already realizes its arrival. 

Let us try to persuade ourselves that 
the Great Exhibition will be a good thing, 
and as " the wish " is often the " father 
to the thought," and the desire the hand- 
maid of its fulfilment, we shall be the 
more likely to perform creditably our 
own part in the undertaking. The pro- 
duct of single grains of corn makes up 
the harvest, and the great product of 
individual behaviour will constitute the 
sum total of the influence of the Great 
Exhibition. Let our motto then be — 

Kind neighbours set, apart from selfish ends, 
A good example to our foreign Mends ; 
In this good cause, whoe'er may praise or blame, 
Do all you can, and we will do the same. 


As a companion to our article on Cerro 
de Pasco, or the Silver City, we subjoin 
Mr. Bernard Taylor's interesting descrip- 
tion of life in the capital of California. 

A better idea of San Francisco in the 
beginning of September, 1849, cannot 
be given than by the description of a 
single day. 

By nine o'clock the town is in the full 
flow of business. The streets running 
down to the water, and Montgomery- 
street, which fronts the bay, are crowded 
with people, all in hurried motion. The 
variety of characters and costumes is 
remarkable. Persons seem to lose their 
local peculiarities in such a crowd, and it 
is by chance epithets rather than by man- 
ner, that the New Yorker is distinguished 
from the Kentuckian, the Carolinian from 
the Down Easter, the Virginian from the 
Texian. The German and Frenchman 
are more easily recognised. Peruvians 
and Chilians go by in their brown pon- 
chos ; and the sober Chinese, cool and 
impassive in the midst of excitement, 
look out of the oblique corners of their 
long eyes at the bustle, but are never 
tempted to venture from their own line 
of business. The eastern side of the 
plaza, in front of the Parker-house, and 
a canvass gaming-stall, called the ** £1 
Dorado," are the general rendezvous of 
business and amusement — combining 
'change, park, club-room, and promenade 
all in one. 'There, every body, not con- 



sttntfy empTtfyed in otM tfpdt, may be 
0eto at some tirrre of the day. The eha* 
raeter of the groups scattered along the 
plasa is oftenixdi^B ^^^y interestihf . In 
one plaee ate tbr^e ot four speculators 
bargaitiihg for lots, buying; alid selling 
" fifty varas square " m towns, some of 
which are canvass and some only paper ; 
In another, a company of miners, brown 
as leather, and ragged in features as in 
dress ; in a third, perhaps, ihree or four 
naval officers speculating on the next 
cruise, or ai knot of genteel gamblers 
talking over the last night's operations. 

The day advances. The mist, which 
ttfii^r sunrise hung low atid heavy for an 
hour 6r two, has risen above the hills, 
and there will be two hours of pleasant 
sunshine before the wind sets in from the 
sea. The crowd in the streets is now 
wholly alive. Men daft hither and 
thither, as if possessed with a never- 
resting spirit. You speak to an acquaint- 
ance — a merchant, perhaps. He utters 
a few hurried words of greeting, while 
his eyes send keen glances on all sides of 
you ; suddenly he tatches sight of some- 
body in the crowd, he is off; and in the 
next fite nhiinutes has bought up half a 
cargd, sold a town lot at treble the sum 
he gave, and taken a share in some new 
and imposing speculation. It is ihipos- 
sible to witness this excess atid dissipsition 
of business, without feeling something of 
its influence. The air is pregnant with 
the magnetism of bold, spirited, un- 
wearied action, and he who but ventures 
into the outer circle of the whirlpool, is 
spinning, ere he has time for thought, 
in the dizzy vortex. 

About twelve o'clock, a wind begins to 
blow from the north-west, sweeping with 
great violence through a gap between the 
hills, opening towards the Golden Gate. 
The bells and gongs begin to sound for 
dinner, and these two causes tend to 
lessen the crowd iii the streets for an 
hour or two. Two o'clock is the usual 
dinner time for business men, but some 
of the old and successftil merchants have 
adopted the fashionable hour of five. 
Where shall we dine to day ? the restau- 
rants disjjlay their signs invitingly on all 
sides ; we have choice of the " United 
States," ** Tortoni's," the " Alhalnbra," 
and many other equally classic resorts, but 
"belmonico's," lie its distinguished ori- 
ginal in New York, has the highest prices, 
arid the greatest variety of dishes. We go 
down Kearny-street to a two-story wooden 
house oh thfe corner of Jackaoa-street. 

The lower story h a market ; the walls 
are garnished with quarters of beef and 
mutton ; a huge prle of Sandwich Island 
squashes fills one corner, and several 
cabbage-heads, Valued at 9«. 6d, each, 
show themselves in the window. We 
enter a little door at the end of the build- 
ing, ascend a dark, narrow, flight of 
steps, and find ourselves in a long, low, 
room, with ceiling and walla of white 
muslin, and a fioor covered v^ith oil- 

There are about t#enty tables, disposed 
in two rows, all of them so well filled 
that we have some difficulty in finding 
places. Takitig up the written bill of 
fare, we And such items as the folio wr- 

flotvs. Dol. ct.* 

Moektartle 75 

St. Juliea 1 00 

1 75 

I 00 











BoHed salmon trout, anchovy sauee ... 


JUg mQtton, eaper sauco 

Corned beef, cabbage 

xiaoi anu tongues. .«•••.. ..•.•...■■•.•■... 


Fillet of beef, mushroom sauce ....;. ... 

Yeal cutlets, breaded 

Mutton chop 

Lobster salad 

Sirloin of venisoa , 

Baked xnaccaroni ,^ 

Beef tongue, sauce pfquatit 

So that, with but a moderate appetite, 
the dinner will cost us five dollars, if we 
are at all epicurean in our iastes. There 
are cries of '< steward!" from all parts of 
the room j the word " waiter " is not 
considered sufiiciently respectful, seeing 
that the waiter may have been a lawyer 
or merchant Volerl a few sdouths before. 
The dishes look very small as they are 
plaieed on the table, but they are skilfully 
cooked, find very palatable to to6n who 
have ridden in from the diggings. The 
appetite one aequires in California is 
something remiirkable. For two monthil 
after niy arrival, my sensations were like 
those of ft famished wolf. 

The appearance of San Franciseo at 
night, from the water, is unlike any thing 
I eter beheld. The houses are mostly of 
canvass, which is made transparent by 
lauips #ithin, and transforms thetn, in the 
darkness, to dwellings of solid light. 
Seated on the sldpes of its three hills, 
the tents pitched atiiong the chaparalf to 
the very summits, it gleams like an am- 
phitheatre bf fire. Here and there shine 

* The dollat is equal to about 4#. Gd. of English 
money; a cent, to one half^genny. 
t Plantation of evergreen oak-trees. 

T^E ddtiD HtmtBB'ai OBAVB. 


opt hfillifttit fktints, fttfth the deeoy latnpi 
of tli6 gaming houses ; anti through tn« 
indistinct mtirmur of the streets eomes 
by fits the sound of fnaedc from their hot 
and crowded precincts. The {iiicture has 
in It something unreal and fantastic ; it 
impresses one like the cities of the magic 
lantern, which a motion of the hand can 
build or annihilate. 

The only objects left for lis to tislt are 
the gdihiiig tables, whose day has just 
fairly dk#ned. We shall not be deterred 
from entering by the heat and smoke, ot 
the motley chshracters into whose com- 
pany we sliafl be thrown. There are rard 
chanceti here for seeing human nature in 
one of its most dark and exciting phases. 
Note the variety of expression in the 
faces gathered around the table ! They 
are playing motite, the favourite gatnfe in 
Ctiiitornid, since (he chances are con- 
sidered liiore e<)uai and the opportunity 
of false play very slight. — The dealer 
throws out his cards With a cool, non- 
chalant air ; indeed, th^ gradual iiicreas^ 
of the hollow square of dollars at his 
left hand i^ not calculated to disturb his 
ecfutinimtty. The two Mexicans in front, 
muffled in their dirty sarapen, put dOwn 
their h^lf-doUars and dollars and see them 
lost, without changing a tiiuscle. Gamb- 
ling is a born habit ^ith them; and they 
trould lo^e thousands with the sathe in- 
difierence. Very different is the demean- 
our of the Americans who are playiilg ; 
their good or ill luck is betra} ed at once 
by iiivolnntary exclamations and changes 
of countenance, unless the stake should 
be verj^ large and absorbing, when their 
anxiety, though silent, may be read with 
no less certainty. They have no power 
i6 resist the fascination of the gadie. 
Now counting their winnings Uy ihoU- 
saiids, now dependent on the kindness of 
a friend for a few dollars to commence 
anew, they pass hour alter hour in those 
hot, unwholesiome dt'us. There is ho 
appearaiice of arms, but let one of the 
pia3er8, impatient with his losses and 
maddened by the poisonous fluids he has 
drunk, threaten one of the profession, 
and there will be no scarcity of knives 
and revolvers. 


Every road from the settled states to 
California, the region of gold, is dotted 
with the graves ot emigrants, who, at the 
eomtnenc^ment of their joutney, were 

buoyant with hope^ and absorbed in the 
one thought of filling their coffers with 
the golden riches. Little did they dream, 
when leaving home and friends, that their 
journey would be so suddenly interrupted, 
and that instead of a rapid acifuisition of 
wealth, their slow-moving trains should 
move on, and leaive them all solitary and 
atone in the prairie grave, tiver which the 
night-prowling wolves should disihally 

Thousands, however, have succeeded 
in escaping the dangers of the v^ay, and 
have been permitted to mingle in the 
mad excitement 6f speculation in the 
California towns, oi the more intense 
excitement of search ,for gold at the 
mines. For a few weeks or months their 
niinds and hands are fully employed, and 
everything else is forgotten, eten their 
souls, in the one prevailing passion. They 
calculate their future wealth by tens of 
thousands, and their night visions receive 
their colouring from the busy thoughts of 
the day. One thing has been strangely 
forgotten — that they were niortal — and 
one after another, struck by disease, 
retires from the noisy crowd to die. Tes, 
to die! with little sympathy to soothe 
their last hours, and with few near to care 
whether they die 6t live. Their best 
^nd tenderest fiiends, who wo»uld have 
watched by their side with solicitude and 
ministered to their every want, are far, 
far away. Behold that cemetery ! A few 
months, comparatively, since, and that 
field wa% covered with its green sward 
and its wild flowers; now it has the 
appearance of having been torn up by 
the plough. The graves are many, and 
have been made in rapid succession. 
Thousands lie there, unthinking now of 
gold, and unmindful of the busy hum 
around them. Alas 1 and most of those 
graves have received the bodies of men 
who have died in their prime, in their 
youth. The probability of dying was a 
thought that entered not their minds. 
To have suggestt^d such a thought would 
have been regarded by them as an im- 
pertinent intrusion. Yet it has been 
realized — they have died before gray 
hairs bad come upon them ; and the 
region of gold, which had filled so large 
a place in their hearts, has withheld its 
treasures from them, and afforded them 
only a grave. The mammon god has 
befooled them. He held out ai a lure 
his bags of shining gold, and as they 
reached forth to grasp them, tripped them 
into a grave, — American Paper, 





In the " Life of Sir Thomas Fowell 
Buxton/' we are informed, that it was his 
custom to purchase for his children a 
picture or toy ; and in order to give them 
9l joyful surprise, to hide it in some place 
to which they had access, and which they 
were sure to visit. A shout of ecstasy 
would ring through the nursery when the 
discovery was made, and the father was 
richly repaid by witnessing their delight. 
The pleasure of dkjotffttl surprise in more 
important matters has, doubtless, also 
been known to our readers in the course 
of their lives ; some event, perhaps, 
coming at a moment when it was pecu- 
liarly acceptable and totally unexpected, 
has made the heart overflow with delight 
and rapture. In the dealings of his pro- 
vidence, God often orders events for his 
children, so as to give them a joyful sur- 
prise; when faith languishes, and the 
promise .seems to tarry, then at a moment 
all unlooked-for, the answer comes with 
a sweetness and an unexpectedness that 
make it all the more precious. How 
must Jacob of old have felt his joyful 
surprise when it was announced to him 
that Joseph yet lived, and was viceroy of 
Egypt? or, to borrow an example from 
the thick field of modern instances, how 
must the heart of the late Legh Rich- 
mond have bounded with joy when, after 
mourning the death of his elde&t son,-— in 
consequence, as was reported, of the loss 
of the vessel in which he had sailed, with 
all its crew, — news came that the young 
man was alive and well, having provi- 
dentially remained behind, and escaped 
the disaster which had overwhelmed his 
comrades ? 

The incident which I am now about to 
narrate will illustrate, perhaps, even more 
pointedly than the preceding examples, 
the nature of a joyful surprise. It is 
founded on a fact which actually occurred 
in the manner here stated. May it serve 
to cheer the heart of some fainting la- 
bourer in the Lord's vineyard : — 

In an English village, the name of 
which it is unnecessary for me to give, 
there dwelt, till lately, an old man, whom 
I will call John Roberts. Although poor, 
he was rich in faith, and had acquired an 
influence which gold could not have 
bought. He was unwearied in doing 
good, and particularly in that kind of it 
which consists in visiting and ministering 

to the sick. However infectious the dis- 
order, John Roberts shrunk not from his 
errand of mercy. Where others quailed, 
he went boldly forward, giving consola- 
tion to the dying believer, leading the 
penitent sinner away from dependence 
upon himself, to a trust on the crucified 

Flesh and blood will sometimes shrink, 
however, and murmuringly imagine that 
no good is done, when no fruit is seen. 
After a course of usefulness, John Roberts 
was at one time disposed to grow weary 
and faint in his mind. How often does 
such a temptation beset tlie Christian ! 
How often does he think the precious 
seed lost, when it is but hid in the 
ground, ready to spring forth and fruc- 

One evening, when betrayed into this 
state of mind, our hero (for does not such 
a man deserve the title?) was invited by 
a friend to call upon a sick man, in a 
neighbouring village. John half doubted 
the utility of his errand, but at last shook 
ofi* the temptation. '* I will go," he said to 
himself; " * let us not be weary in well- 
doing ; in due season we shall reap, if we 
faint not.' " 

Arrived at the village, he was not long 
in finding the place of his destination. It 
was an ordinary cottage, with a neat plot 
of garden-ground before it On knock- 
ing, the door was opened by a respectable- 
looking woman, to whom John explained 
his errand. 

*' Come in, sir ; he will be so happy to 
see you, I am sure. The doctor has just 
left, and has said that he cannot live out 
the night." 

The sick man was found reclining on a 
bed, which, like the other furniture of the 
apartment, was plain, but at the same 
time scrupulously clean. 

'' My friend," said John, after a few 
kind inquiries of a general nature, '' it is 
a solemn thing to lie as you now do, with 
the prospect of so soon going before a 
holy God, to give in an account of the 
deeds done in the body." 

" Ay, ay, sir, it is a solemn thing," 
replied the dying man ; " but * I know in 
whom I have believed.' " 

It was cheering to have such an an- 
swer ; but John Roberts was not one to 
take things easily for granted. He knew 
that an apparently strong confidence 
sometimes rests on a sandy foundation, 
and that not every one that cal's Christ 
" Lord, Lord " shall enter the kingdom of 
heaven. The weakest faith that leans 



on the Saviour is preferable, it has been 
mrell said, to the strongest that leans on 
self. A few other questions, however, 
brought forth replies which showed that in 
this case, at least, the work was a genuine 
one. The poor invalid, convinced of sin, 
had fled as a penitent to the Saviour, and 
yielded himself up, under the influence 
of the Holy Spirit, to his light and easy 

*' And how long," said the gratified 
visitor, "is it since you first knew the 

** About twenty years ago. Ah, sir ! *' 
continued the sick man, turning his eyes 
full on the visitor, " my conversion was a 
wonderful one. It was wrought, do you 
know, by a miracle." 

•* A miracle ! " said John ; ** all true 
conversions are miracles. It is as great 
a wonder for a man dead in trespasses 
and sins to be born again, by the Holy 
Ghost, as for a corpse to be brought to 

•* Ay, ay, sir," said the dying man, 
" that is very true ; I don't mean that : 
mine was a real miracle ; as much so as 
any in the Old or New Testament." 

" Impossible, impossible, my friend," 
said Jolm, incredulously ; for he was now 
afraid that, after all, the invalid must 
have been resting on some delusion. 

** You may think so, at first, I dare 
say ; but you won't, I am sure, when you 
have heard me out," rejoined the invalid. 
" About twenty years ago, I was living a 
very imgodly life ; I had no fear of God 
before my eyes. I was a burden to my- 
self and others. I drank, I swore, I pro- 
faned the sabbath. It happened, how- 
ever, that I was one day sent into a field 
to mow some hay. I had made an 
engagement in the evening to meet some 
companions in the ale-house, and have a 
night of folly. Well, as I was saying, I went 
into the field, and I took my dinner with 
me, for it was some distance to walk 
home again. It was only some bread and 
cheese, for I was kept too poor by drink- 
ing to buy anything better. When I got 
to the field, I looked about for some place 
to put it in, and taking my handkerchief, 
I wrapped it up, and hid it in a hole in 
the hedge. There was nobody in the 
field but myself; of that I am quite sure. 
Well, dinner-time came, and I went away 
to get out my bread and cheese. There 
was the bundle as I had left it I opened 
it, all unconcerned, — and inside, to my 
astonishment, lay a little tract. I could 
not believe my eyes at first ; but there it 

was. I opened it and read it, trembling all 
over as I did so. I knew that no one else 
had been in the field, or I must have seen 
him. God himself must have sent some 
angel with if, I thought. So I read, and 
as I began to read it, it told me of my lost 
and sinful condition, and warned me to flee 
from the wrath to come. I fell down on my 
knees then and there, and prayed, * God 
be merciful to me a sinner ! ' ( resolved 
that as He had sent down this tract to 
me, I would henceforth give myself to 
my Saviour, and lead a new life. I did 
not go to the ale-house that night, you 
may be sure. It was long before I got 
any peace or hope ; but at last I was able 
to believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and 
was filled with joy and peace and love. 
Ever since then, I have been, I trust, 
a new creature ; and soon I hope to be 
with him and praise him for all his mer- 
cies to me. ^Tow, sir, was I not right in 
saying that my conversion was caused by 
a real miracle ? " 

As he concluded, the old man looked 
at John Roberts. The countenance of 
the latter seemed strangely agitated by 
the narrative. *' How long ago did you 
say it was since this happened?" he 

*' Twenty years ago, come Michaelmas 
next," said the old man. 

''Was not the field called Pender's 
Bush, and did it not belong to farmer 
Jones ? " continued Roberts, in an eager 
voice. " Praised be God ! I can explain 
your miracle. That morning I myself had 
gone out to walk along the footpath next 
that field, when I happened to see 
through the hedge a man in the neigh- 
bouring field, looking about, as if he 
wanted to hide something. I was curious 
to know what it could be, thinking at 
first he had been doing something wrong ; 
and standing still, I watched till I saw 
where he put his bundle. On getting 
nearer, I found it was only his dinner, 
and had a mind to leave it, and walk on. 
Having some tracts in my pocket, how- 
ever, 1 said, * It can do no harm to leave 
him one.' So I slipped the tract, and left 
it; for, thought I, who knows but God 
may bless it to the man when he comes 
to read it?" 

We must leave our readers to imagine 
the scene that followed ; the tears of plea- 
sure that ran down John's cheeks as he 
thus found the good seed returned to him 
after many days ; the wondering and yet 
grateful feelings of the poor man as the 
mystery that so long had puszled his 



simple intellect, was thus cleared up. He 
died shortly afterwards, filled with joy 
and peace in believitig. John Roberts 
returned home, reanimated and encou- 
raged in his work and labour of love, for 
he had indeed had a joyful surprise. 

What I have written is substantially 
true. The facts, as I have said, actually 
occurred almost as here stated. How 
encouraging to those who are epgaged in 
works and labours of love I Go on sted- 
fast, immovable, always abounding in the 
work of the Lord. No service for God is 
lost. Tarry ye the Lord's leisure. Be 
strong, and he will comfort your hearts. 

The poor man's miracle was proved to 
. be a matter of human agency ; but one 
real miracle remained behind — that was 
his conversion. As his visitor observed, 
'^ For a man dead in trespasses and sins 
to be born again, is as great a miracle as 
for a corpse to be raised from the dead." 

Reader I has this change passed upon 
you ? If not, oh read, pray, and ponder 
over the Saviour's words, — " Verily, 
verily I say unto thee, except a mon be 
bom of water and of the Spirit, he cannot 
enter into the kingdom of God. That 
which is born of the flesh is flesh ; and 
that which is born of the Spirit is spirit. 
Marvel not that I said unto thee. Ye 
must be bom again." £. V. 


Sometimes the aged breast is visited 
with sunny gleams and joyous emotions 
that recall the remembrance of youth. 
The heart glows and the fancy puts forth 
its springtide leaves of freshness and ver- 
dure. This remark is a kind of counter- 
part of my present sensations. Let me, 
then, be indulged in the free expression 
of my thoughts, even though I dip my 
pen in poe^y a little more frequently and 
nreely than is my wont. In my sunny 
musings I usually turn to the country. 

To the Christian lover of nature, the 
beauteous earth and the expanded hea- 
vens present a mighty temple, filled with 
the glory of the Lord : 

*' A vast cathedral, boundless as our wonder, 

Whose quenchless lamp the sun and moon 
supply ; 
Iti choir the winds and waves ; its oq^n thun- 
Its mighty dome the wide extended sky/* 

Few have revelled more freely than 
myself in country scenes, or with more 
lively joy and thankfulness than mine ; 
whatever may have beep thp hour of the 

day, or the season of ihe year. Some of 
these scenes return uppn me now : 

Oh I have seen the red deer ron 
In fair Glentilt, what time the sun 
Has flung upon the fairy ground 
A sweet and mellow radiance round ; — 
And climb'd the heights of Ben y Gloe ; 
And heard the eagle scream below ; 
And roark'd, mid summer's burning yiew, 
The snowy plaid of Ben Mac Dhu. — 
But neither glen, nor fairy ground ; 
Nor yet the red deer's lithesome bound ; 
Nor Ben y Gloe, with healthy breast ; 
Nor Ben Mac phu's mors loity crest; 
Nor eagle, with his pinion strong, 
And rapid ilight, demand my song. 

Some of my readers may remember a 
striking sunset described by me ; and as 
it will furnish a kind of contrast with the 
scene that will follow it, I shall mate no 
apology for again referring to it. 

The setting sun, gorgeous in glory, 
was mirrored in a glassy lake, ]partly sur- 
rounded with peaked mountains. The 
western end of the lake having no visible 
boundary, seemed to mingle with the 
skies. The gliltering heavens above were 
brightly reflected, and the sun that was 
setting was confronted with the sun that 
was rising. There they were, like two 
proud conquerors in their triumphal cars, 
glorious in majesty and might, hastening 
to wage war one with another. It was 
hard to say which was the more gorgeous 
in apparel, for each was clad in robes of 
living light, and glowing yellow, and 
purple, and crimson : the one above rode 
on a dark cloud, and the one beneath 
had a dark cloud for his canopy. As the 
one, flashing with intolerable brightness, 
descended, the other, with equal radiance, 
advanced to meet him, mocking his pomp 
and splendour, and giving him hue for 
hue, light for light, gloom for gloom, and 
glare for glare. And now they were near 
each other, and the mighty collision was 
at hand ; but no hostile shock was visible, 
no contending crash of thunder broke on 
the ear. When they met on the confines 
of the skies, each entering his dark cloud, 
the glowing effulgency, the living light, 
the glittering hues of yellow, purple, and 
crimson were silently withdrawn, and the 
ethereal pageantry passed away, leaving 
me a